


One in a Million

by Fitzs_Trained_Monkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/M, Insanity, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Supernatural Season 14 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 20:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 86,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzs_Trained_Monkey/pseuds/Fitzs_Trained_Monkey
Summary: "We were one in a million, Jack."Martina Imogene Linville never really had a chance. But that was about to change.Martina has more secrets than she can count but when she suddenly comes into correspondence with none other than the half-angel Jack Kline, Martina finds herself with hope for the first time in years. With the chance to become part of a family again close enough to touch, Martina struggles to reach the brightness of her future while still holding on to the darkness of her past. But how long can she keep her secrets hidden from Jack and the others? Will her new family turn their backs on her when they find out the truth? And does being being part of this new family mean leaving her old one behind?On a wild ride of desperate deception Martina learns that holding on to something to tightly might mean losing it forever and that the power of words could very well bring the world to an end. The odds are one in a million. Can Martina ever be happy again?Please give this story a chance!
Relationships: Jack Kline & Original Female Character(s), Jack Kline/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Lonely Together

Chapter One: Lonely Together

_~I might hate myself tomorrow_

_But I'm on my way tonight_

_Let's be lonely together_

_A little less lonely together~_

** Sent: 10:52 PM **

**Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow.**

**Stay warm.**

I smiled down at my phone before clicking it off and slipping it into my pocket. I didn't know who I had sent the message to. It was just a number I had punched in at random. I didn't expect anyone to reply.

Wrapping my dark green cardigan tighter around my body, I pulled my knees in closer to my chest and pressed myself closer against the wall of the bakery. The wall was only slightly warmer than the frigid air around me. It was December 22nd and icy gales were blowing in from Lake Superior and stinging the skin of the city's occupants.

The sky hung dark, low, and flat over Copper Harbor, Michigan. Copper Harbor was an itty-bitty town at the northern most tip of the northernmost part of Michigan. You know that piece of land that's only connected to the mainland by a highway, that in-between place that really should be Canada, but isn't? That's where Copper Harbor is and that's where I was.

Copper Harbor was the sort of town where newcomers and visitors are as common as flying pigs and are treated with about as much scrutiny. It's not one of those small, friendly towns just off the highway; the ones that are pleasant to find yourself in if you've taken a wrong turn. It's quite the feat to get lost and turn up in Copper Harbor, considering its miles away from anything and everything remotely interesting, unless you're searching for Bigfoot or a drunk Canadian that took a wrong turn. Though those two things might just end up being one and the same. No, nobody came to Copper Harbor unless they had a reason. That's just the sort of place it was. And aside from the mind-numbing cold, it was exactly the sort of place I wanted to be.

The clouds were so heavy with the snow that now drifted down, dusting everything in a layer of fine white powder, it seemed that someone standing on even the lowest rooftop could reach up and touch them. The snowflakes raining down from those clouds gave the appearance of tiny shooting stars. Many would have found the sight beautiful. I didn't. I just found it cold and somewhat depressing. Some people say that shooting stars are angels, falling to the earth to bless the lives of people in need. I've never liked those sorts of stories. The stars belong in the heavens. The dust belongs on the earth. Collecting in puddles, the sparkling, sugar-like ice crystals did nothing to ease the bitter cold. I shivered and coughed, my breath fogging in front of me.

I should have frozen to death hours ago.

But I can't die. At least, not that way.

Suffering, on the other hand, I can do that to no end.

I put my head between my knees, hoping to retain what little heat my walking corpse had to offer. I struggled to remain conscious. The story of the little-match-girl was playing in my head. I'd never liked that story's ending. Hallucinations really weren't my thing, especially hallucinations about things I tried not to think about, the things I tried to burry in the farthest corners of my mind. I had to distract myself, to think about anything that would keep me awake. The problem was, there was nothing to distract me.

**Pling!**

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. I grasped it quickly, greedy for a distraction, but I paused upon seeing the number displayed upon the screen. It was that number I had texted the Merry Christmas message to. Whoever it was had texted me back. I unlocked my phone and peered at the mystery person's message.

** Received: 11:18 PM **

**Merry Christmas to you as well!**

The message read. I smiled a little, surprised that anyone would care to return my quiet Christmas wish. The screen of my phone lit up with another message.

** Received: 11:19 PM **

**Who are you?**

The question was a simple one. Though tone can often be difficult to infer over written text, the question seemed to bear no hostility, only innocent curiosity. I thought for a bit about what to say, the answer was not as simple as the question had implied.

*******

Located quite literally one thousand miles away from Copper Harbor, was the small, out-of-the-way town of Lebanon, Kansas. Now, in the outskirts Lebanon there was a hill. The hill was modestly sized and carpeted with thick grass painted with a layer of frost. Although it was a rather pleasant sight for some stray hiker to find, the hill was really quite unremarkable. That is, if you ignored the hulking steel door built into the side of it that looked like the entrance to a post-apocalyptic hobbit hole. See, built under that hill there was a bunker. It looked like any ordinary bunker if one can ever describe a bunker as ordinary. But inside this ordinary looking bunker, sat something rather extraordinary and his name was Jack.

Jack Kline was quite happy where he was. Sitting with his legs crossed on a chair beside the bunker's fireplace, Jack held Sam's beloved lap-top between his knees. Sam let him borrow it on the nights he couldn't sleep. Those nights were many. Sleepless nights were one of the many side effects of being half-angel, but he didn't really mind. Jack wasn't overly fond of sleep, not like Sam or Dean who adored the few hours they got. Jack would much rather be awake because if he was asleep then he couldn't observe. He liked to observe. He loved learning. He loved taking in anything and everything going on around him, soaking it all up like a sponge with legs. He especially loved to soak up a story. Epic ones with heroes that defeat powerful villains. Jack loved stories.

So, no; Jack Kline was not overly fond of sleep. No, Jack preferred to just sit quietly and watch those epic stories as they played out in front of him on the screen of Sam's lap-top.

Currently, he was watching Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The computer had said he would like it, and the computer had been right. He had just finished season 2 and had begun on season 3. Some small voice in the back of his mind told him he should slow down and draw the series out a little longer, but Jack just couldn't find the will to do so. This story was just too good to stop. Jack shoved a hand full of popcorn in his mouth as he pressed the play button on the next episode. He had managed to sneak several bags of popcorn from the kitchen and into the secret stash in his room a few nights earlier. It was perfect, except popcorn needed to be popped and popping the kernels without attracting notice was a bit of a challenge. But he found that if he popped them during the day, when everyone was clamoring about and busy with whatever, the noise from the popping kernels wouldn't peak any suspicion. The only downside to his strategy was that it left him with cold popcorn. Though this too could be remedied via his angel powers, if he was careful about it, he could warm up the popcorn undetected.

Now, don't get the impression that Jack was being starved, or held in this bunker against his will, or something awful like that. As was mentioned before, Jack was very happy there. The Winchesters, Sam and Dean, and the angel Castiel, lived there with him and took care of him. They were his family and Jack loved them. The only reason he had a secret stash at all was because Sam was the only one in the bunker who cared about the importance of having a somewhat healthy diet. Whereas Dean let the boy eat pretty much anything he wanted and Cas- well in Cas's mind food was food and that's all there was to it. But Sam didn't like it when he caught Jack eating what he referred to as 'junk food'.

Somehow, Sam always caught him.

"That stuff’ll rot your teeth, Jack!" He'd sigh, as he'd flip on the kitchen light and catch Jack eating cereal sometime around midnight. Then he'd look at Jack with a disappointed look on his face until Jack threw the cereal away and went back to bed. Jack hated it when Sam looked at him like that, he just couldn't bear to let the Winchesters down.

But Jack loved to eat. Eating was enjoyable as it brought with it something new every time. Yet more things to absorb and to experience. Although the younger Winchester disapproved of the more sugary foods; Jack liked those a whole lot more than the salads Sam tried to get him to eat. Jack didn't like the salads or 'Rabbit Food' as Dean called it. No, Jack liked popcorn a quite a bit more.

He smiled as he brought another handful into his mouth. Yes, Jack Kline quite enjoyed eating.

**Plip! Ploop!**

Jack's head swiveled away from the screen to stare at the phone laying face-up on the arm rest of the chair in which he sat. The screen was alight with a text message. He picked up the phone and unlocked it. The message read:

** Received: 10:52 PM **

**Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow.**

**Stay warm.**

That was all. Jack was quite confused; he didn't know that number. Who had sent the text? What should he do? Should he say something back?

Curiosity and caution struggled in a match tug-of-war in his head. He wanted to know who the message had come from. He wanted to know why that person had sent it. He also wanted to know why he had a strange feeling that whoever had sent the message was horribly sad. But would the Winchesters be mad at him if he answered? Sam and Dean had given him the phone just a few days earlier.

"For emergencies," Sam had said as he laid the device in Jack's hand before resuming his packing. Jack had stared at it, rather confused as to its purpose. Castiel had been off somewhere doing something and Sam and Dean had been leaving for a hunt, leaving him alone which Dean was completely and utterly against.

"Only for emergencies," Dean had stressed, jabbing his finger in Jack's general direction as he inspected various articles of clothing before tossing them into a duffle bag. "That means don't text or call unless someone is breaking in or you're dying!"

Sam shot his older brother a warning look. Dean ignored it and pulled a pair of socks out of his dresser, sniffing them briefly before making a face and chucking them to the other side of the room. Jack looked back down at the small black rectangle in his palm.

"Okay so, only text or call in case there's an emergency. Got it." Jack clinched the thin black box between his thumb and forefinger, carefully lifting it up as if it might explode in his face. "But, one question, if something happens like-like you said, like somebody breaking in or me dying, how-how would I do that?" He asked, looking back at the two brothers. They both froze their hasty packing and pivoted to stare at him, their eyebrows raised with disbelieving question.

"What?" Dean asked the young Nephilim. Jack shrank away a little, not wanting to upset the older Winchester.

"How do I text or call you? I don't know how to do that," Jack had timidly replied. Dean just shook his head and returned to over-stuffing the duffle. Sam, however, was much more understanding.

"That's right, you-you don't, do you?" Sam asked, realizing his mistake. Jack turned his attention to the younger of the brothers, shaking his head in an answer to Sam's question.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Sam shot him another glare which Dean merely shrugged off.

"Well, come on then, I'll teach you," Sam had said. Jack watched as Sam set the contacts and explained how everything worked. He showed Jack how to send a text, how to dial and answer a call, and all the other things Jack would need to know. Jack just watched him and took note of every little thing. Watching and replicating was how Jack learned best.

"Now, if I don't answer my phone, you call Dean. But if he doesn't pick up, I want you to call me again, if I still don't answer a second time, I want you to call this number right here. That's Jody Mills, she's a friend of ours and she'll help you, alright? You get all that?" Sam finished explaining and looked for Jack to confirm his understanding. Jack nodded.

"I got it!" He said, enthusiastically. Sam gave the young boy a nervous smile.

"You do? Can you repeat it back to me?" Sam asked Jack the question the same way Sam and Dean's father had always asked them.

"If something happens, call you, and if you don't answer, call Dean. If Dean doesn't answer then I call you again, but if you still don't pick up, then call Jody Mills." Jack repeated all of Sam's instructions perfectly, grinning proudly at the younger Winchester when he finished. Sam laughed a little, but nerves twinged his voice.

"Good, yeah. Okay," Sam paused, thinking things over, "You know what, Jack? If neither of us answer your call and it's really that urgent, don't bother calling me a second time. Just call Jody right away if you can't get through to either of us. Alright?"

"Alright!" Jack nodded, grinning. Sam nodded back, stiffly.

"Alright." He seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn't know how to say it.

"You two done in there, Sammy?! We gotta go!" Dean called, walking in from another room. Sam stood and looked at his brother.

"Uh, yeah. I think we're good," He took a few steps towards the stairs that lead up to the door before pausing and turning back to Jack, "We're good, right? You're gonna be okay here by yourself?" Sam asked again. Jack grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

Sam nodded and smiled with so much nervousness it almost hurt to watch.

"Okay, good. It's good. We're good," He said, nodding and trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. Dean raised an eyebrow at his overly anxious little brother, tugging his old leather jacket on over his shoulders, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he directed his remarks at Jack.

"Hey, kid. Whatever you do, don't do anything stupid," He'd said, half glaring, "We'll be back in a few days." Then they'd left.

Now, Jack glanced back down at the phone in his hands, remembering Dean's warning about not doing anything stupid. But his curiosity regarding the sender of the message was overwhelming. It couldn't hurt to text this person back, right? Was that what Dean had meant by his warning? Did this count as something stupid? What was the worst that could happen? Deciding that the benefits outweighed the risks, he texted back.

** Sent: 10:18 PM **

**Merry Christmas to you as well!**

Jack wrote.

** Sent: 10:19 PM **

**Who are you?**

No sooner had asked his question, he began to worry that he might have sounded rude. He waited with anticipation for the mystery person to reply. He didn't have to wait long.

** Received: 10:20 PM **

**It doesn't matter, you don't know me.**

**I'm just someone wanting to give you a warm holiday wish.**

Jack frowned. Again, he got the distinct feeling that the person on the other side of this conversation was deeply saddened by something. He desperately wanted to know what. So, he did the thing he did best. He asked and waited to see what would happen.

*******

****

****

****

** Received: 11:21 PM **

**If you don't know me, why do you care?**

**I don't mean to be rude. I'm just curious.**

**Why do this?**

I read the person's question once, then twice, then three times and I realized that I didn't have an answer. Why did I care? Why was I texting some random person a Christmas wish? For all I knew, this person may not even observe the holiday. I had so many of my own things to worry about I was nearly drowning in them. I didn't know this person. I had nothing to do with them. So, why did I care about their holiday season? Why was I doing this?

I told myself it was just a random act of kindness. But deep down I knew what the reason was, and even if I didn't want to think about it, I felt it in my heart. I was doing this for the same reason I did everything. So, I took a few moments and came up with a reply.

** Sent: 11:25 PM **

**I'm doing this because I believe that no one should ever have to be alone,**

**especially during the holidays.**

I sent my reply and remembered to keep on shivering. I could hardly feel the cold anymore, I had gone almost completely numb. But I knew if I didn't keep moving, I would surely freeze in place and be unable to move until spring came. I vaguely wondered how cold it was. I remembered having heard on someone's car radio that this was supposed to be the coldest winter Michigan had experienced in the last decade. Though winter had only just begun, it was already cold enough for the district council to be suggesting face coverings to prevent citizens from getting frostbite and losing their nose.

I sneezed. I had no such face covering. Hell! I didn't even have a jacket! Let alone a coat or anything mildly warm. All I had was my oversized green cardigan, my black Star Wars t-shirt and my black jeans. That was it. Yet here I sat, outside a bakery in well below freezing temperatures, shivering myself into next decade.

I could go to a shelter. At least there I wouldn't have to endure the bitter biting of the wind as it gushed with double its normal force through these tight, abandoned alleyways. But if I went to a shelter then there was no chance of leaving undetected, I reminded myself. No, it was better to stay here, cold and alone, than to risk human contact.

I was pulled from my thoughts by another pling from my phone. Another message from that unknown contact.

** Received: 11: 27 **

**Are you alone?**

Again, the question was simple. And although the mere thought hurt like a knife twisting in a fresh wound, I looked around at the dark, trash littered alleyway I sat in, watching the scattered rags of paper flutter and tumble in the winter gales, and I looked at the brutally beautiful puddles of speckled ice gathering along my body and melting on my skin, and I examined the bleak night sky, choked starless by the drifting dreary clouds; and the utterly silent stillness of the sleeping city revealed the harsh reality of my answer.

No one was here.

Nobody cared.

Not even the stars would keep me company. Because the stars never cared who I was.

So, with no reason to keep the truth hidden. I answered the question honestly.

** Sent: 11: 29 PM **

**Yes.**

** Sent: 11: 30 PM **

**I am alone.**

I was completely and utterly alone.

*******

** Received: 10: 30 PM **

**I am alone.**

Once again Jack got the distinct impression that these words carried a heavy burden. It made him frown. What could he do to help a person he didn't even know? He wanted to ask this person if they had any friends, but something about those words told him the answer. When this person had said they were alone, Jack got the feeling they weren't just talking about the current moment. But maybe that's what this person needed. Maybe they needed a friend.

** Sent: 10: 32 PM **

**Well, I'll be your friend and talk to you. There, now you're not alone anymore!**

Jack smiled as he sent the text. The reply didn't take long.

** Received: 10: 33 PM **

**Thank you.**

**You don't have waste your time on me but thank you.**

It didn't take any special powers to read in between the lines this time, anyone could see the sadness in those words. Though Jack wasn't sure if it was his powers causing that strange feeling or if he was just imagining things.

** Sent: 10:34 PM **

**I don't mind. Really!**

**Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either.**

** Received: 10: 35 PM **

**Well, in that case, we can be lonely together!**

Jack grinned. He'd made himself a friend. He couldn't wait to get to know them.

*******

** Received: 11: 36 PM **

**Since we're friends now, what's your name?**

I smiled down at my new mystery friend's message. There was something about the words that made them seem innocent and earnest. It couldn't hurt to give my name, right? It’s not like he could find me. After all, I'm supposed to be dead.

** Sent: 11: 37 PM **

**My name is Martina.**

I sent my name and waited for the response. It came quickly.

** Received: 11: 38 PM **

**I like your name Martina!**

**It's very pretty.**

I flinched as I read the text. Something about seeing my name written in the text brought me back to a conversation with a different person a long time ago. It was a painful memory, and I didn't want to see it anymore. I didn't want another reminder of the still bleeding wounds in my heart. I remembered why I didn't let anyone call me that name anymore.

** Sent: 11: 39 PM **

**Thank you.**

**But I would prefer you call me Marty.**

I didn't want to be so sensitive to things like this, but I just couldn't help it.

** Received: 11: 40 PM **

**Alright! I like Marty too.**

**It's a fun name.**

I smiled; grateful they didn't ask why it was so important that they called me by a nickname.

** Sent: 11: 41 PM **

**Thanks for understanding.**

**So, what's your name?**

** Received: 11: 42 PM **

**My name is Jack!**

I grinned to myself. I'd made me a friend. I just couldn't wait to get to know him.

** Sent: 11: 43 PM **

**Heya, Jack!**

**It’s nice to meet you!**

**I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.**

** Received: 11: 44 PM **

**I agree, Marty. We are going to be great friends!**

** Sent: 11: 45 PM **

**So, what's your favorite movie?**

And just like that, we talked until the sun came up. And suddenly, for the first time in quite a while, I wasn't completely alone.

_~I might hate myself tomorrow._

_But I'm on my way tonight._

_Let's be lonely together._

_A little less lonely together~_

_Lyrics from: Lonely Together by Jasmine Thompson_

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

**Authors note:**

**READ THIS I COMMAND YOU!!!**

**A big ol' thank you for anyone reading this, I love you and you're awesome. I'm mostly writing this story to get readers. (Ew, gross. I know. But hear me out) I want to draw some attention to the original series I'm working on and so far social media ain't doin' squat. So, here we are. I know fan-fiction attracts people so if you're reading this then PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE check out my other book(s)!!! I am literally begging you! Besides, if a fic with horrible grammar, terrible spelling, and no paragraph spacing can get 46.8K read's then so can I!**

**.... Right?**

**Normally, I am uncomfortable with writing fan-fiction but when you combine one writing teacher who thinks she's cool but isn't, (I'm taking three online writing courses) a second teacher who really likes to make her students uncomfortable, and a writing prompt from the internet- this is what you get! So, you're welcome world, I hope you're happy! This book is set in an AU of season 14 of Supernatural, just FYI.**

**Love you!**


	2. Eager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! No spoilers! Read and find out!

Chapter Two: Eager

~ _Don't wanna seem eager, I gotta be cool  
The last thing I want is to look like a fool_

_Sorry, I never quite seem like myself  
It's just the low confidence cards I've been dealt  
I'm willing to sway to any point of view  
That'll make me a bit more appealing to you~_

"Hey, uh, Jack? We're back!"

Sam's voice drifted in from just outside Jack's bedroom door. Jack was surprised. He hadn't heard the brothers come in which, for him, was quite peculiar.

The door creaked open and Jack hastily attempted to pretend like he hadn't been using the phone.

He failed.

Miserably.

The device slipped from his hand and he fumbled to catch it before it smashed against the grey, polished concrete floor. He let out a sigh of relief as he snatched it just in time.

Sam peered around the door, checking in on Jack, who was now hanging halfway off his bed and clutching the phone. Scrambling to sit upright, Jack gave Sam a half-panicked smile.

"Hi Sam!" He waved a greeting, shoving his phone behind his back. Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.

"Hey Jack," Sam seemed a little distracted, "Have you seen Cas?" He asked. Jack shook his head vigorously.

"He's not back yet," He answered. Sam nodded and started to leave before stopping and turning back. Only now seeming to notice Jack's odd behavior. Sam gestured at the phone hidden behind the boys back,

"So, what were you doing in here just now?" Jack's eyes flew wide as quarters and his gaze shifted rapidly around the room, focusing on anywhere but Sam. His mind was working overtime trying to find a viable excuse.

"Uhhhh...Nothing!" Jack tried; his brain had gone blank. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure about that?" Sam leaned forward a little, narrowing his eyes. Jack leaned back to match; his face scrunched up with the guilt he was trying very hard to hide. Everyone in the bunker knew how terrible Jack was at lying. He might be able to pass a few simple fibs by a stranger, but his family saw through him like he was made of glass. He couldn't deceive them. But that didn't stop him from trying, however.

"Yes..." Jack said slowly, his eyebrows pulling together in a rather sad attempt at looking sincere.

"Jack, what were you doing?" Sam asked more sternly. Jack looked at his feet and didn't answer. His shoulders moved up and down in a shrug.

"Do I have to go get Dean?" Sam pressed. Now Jack's head shot up. He stretched his hands out in a pleading gesture.

"No, no! Don't tell Dean!" Jack begged. Sam's expression shifted into one of concern.

"If you tell me, I won't tell Dean." Sam agreed, moving to sit on the bed beside Jack who shifted to give him some space. Sam waited patiently for the young Nephilim to speak. Jack kept his head down and rubbed his hands together nervously as he tried to think of how he should explain himself.

"Well, last night I was watching Netflix when I got this text from somebody wishing me a merry Christmas-" He started.

"Someone we know?" Sam asked, interrupting. Jack shook his head and continued.

"I asked them why they would do that, and they said it was because they thought that nobody should be alone this time of year. So, I asked if they were alone and they said, yes ─" Jack looked the younger Winchester in the eyes ─

"I don't know why but I just got this- this feeling, and they sounded just so sad, and now we're friends! But Dean said not to do anything stupid, and now I'm worried that I did! Are you mad?" Jack finished, worry coloring his features. Sam blinked. Once again astounded by the size of the half-angel's heart, he shook his head.

"No, Jack. I'm not mad," He said, softly.

"Really?"

"Really. I think you did a good thing. Everyone needs a friend." Sam patted Jack's shoulder and smiled. Jack looked down, grinning to himself as pride filled his chest.

Sam waited a moment before getting up from the bed. Stretching his back out and groaning a bit as he stood. It had been almost 48 hours since he last slept, and he was more than ready for a long nap. His hand rested on the doorknob and he paused a moment before turning back around.

"Hey, uh, Jack. Just one more thing. Do you by chance know this person's name?" Sam asked. Jack looked up briefly before looking back at the floor again, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up to stain his cheeks.

"It's, uh, it's Marty," He replied. Sam nodded and moved to leave again but he stopped. His eyebrows pulled down with confusion before he turned back.

"And uh, is that a boy's name or a girl's name? Do you know?" Jack turned his head a bit to the side and picked at a thread in his jeans.

"Does it matter?" He questioned back. Truthfully, it didn't. Sam wouldn't make Jack stop if he didn't want to. But to say that the boy's current evasive behavior didn't pique his interest, would be a lie. Though, the kid’s flushed cheeks told him quite a bit about the answer.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, shrugging, "I'm just curious is all." The tall man watched the boy's reaction. Jack nodded and shifted as if uncomfortable.

"Marty's a girl." He answered, trying to force his voice into sounding nonchalant. And failing.

"Okay, cool." Sam nodded, turning around again, and reaching for the handle. Jack's head whipped around.

"Wait, Sam!"

Sam looked over his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Don't. Tell. Dean!" Jack stressed. Urgency was evident in his voice. Sam huffed a laugh.

"Okay, Jack." With that, Sam pulled open the door and walked out letting the heavy steel swing shut behind him. Behind the door, Jack sighed with relief. He'd dodged a bullet with that one.

Walking a ways down the hall, Sam got to Dean's room where his older brother was now unpacking. The younger brother leaned on the door frame and expelled the laughter he'd been holding on to since Jack’s room. Dean turned around, holding a pistol and a pair of weeks old and hopelessly blood caked socks in his hands, he faced Sam with a questioning look.

"What's got you so giggly all of a sudden?" The older of the brother's asked.

Dean glanced at the pair of socks in his hand. He grimaced at the stench and held them further away from his face, trying not to breathe. It didn't work. The socks odor was so pungent, Dean could smell them through his mouth. There was no hope of washing them. Nope, those things would have to be burned. Though, taking another whiff of them, Dean wasn't sure that even incinerating the socks would do him much good now. The stomach-turning stink would be branded into his memory forever. Sam straightened up, shaking his head of shoulder length hair.

"It's just something Jack said." Sam smiled and laughed again before taking notice of the unholy stench wafting off the socks. He coughed. "Dude, those stink. Bad!"

"Yeah, it's a sad day, Sammy." Dean nodded solemnly. Sam covered his nose.

"Why?"

"These were my second luckiest pair of socks."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, they're not anymore," Sam pointed out. Now, they were just rancid.

"I think we should give em' a Viking funeral, something to honor their service. I mean, I remember one time when I wore these things for two weeks straight!" Dean reminisced, grinning. Sam looked mildly disturbed.

"That's, uh... nice... But, uh, is there somewhere we could put them before the funeral? Because they, uh, they reek." Sam was trying hard not to gag and couldn't understand how Dean could be holding them and remain unaffected. Dean smirked.

"You wanna go put em' somewhere?" He asked, waving the socks into Sam's face. Sam leaned away.

"Ah! God! No! Put those things somewhere! Please!" He choked out. Dean just grinned and moved to the other side of the room. Grabbing a cardboard box from off the shelf, he shoved the socks in there and sealed the lid. The stench quickly began to dissipate.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"We're gonna have to burn that box too."

"Yup." Sam still felt a little sick but at least the socks were gone.

"So, what was it Jack said that you thought was so funny?" The older brother asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing," Sam said. But laughter began to creep up on him again. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to pulling more dirty clothing from the duffle bag.

"Are ya gonna stand there or are ya gonna spill?" Dean pushed. Sam sobered up again.

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," He said.

Dean shook his head, mildly annoyed. He knew Sam was going to tell him whatever juicy information he had gotten, just like he always did when he got that sly look on his face. Sam could be a bit of a schoolgirl that way. Except, of course, when it came to the important things, the things Dean was supposed to know. Those things Sam always kept to himself.

"Well, Sammy, if you ain’t gonna spill─" he used the gun in his hand to gesture from Sam to the duffle bag─ "get workin'."

The younger Winchester moved to the bag and started unpacking, grinning his face off all the while. Dean knew his little brother was waiting for him to ask about the thing with Jack again, so he said nothing. He just waited for Sam to look over to him eagerly, which is exactly what Sam did.

' _Here it comes_.' Dean predicted internally. Sam kept starring.  
' _Wait for it_.' More staring.  
' _Right... about... now!_ '

"So get this!" Sam started.

' _Yatzee._ ' Dean thought. He knew Sam like the back of his hand. Actually, he probably knew his brother better than that.

"Apparently, Jack got a text from some random person last night wishing him merry Christmas. And, well, you know Jack! So he─" Dean stopped his brother mid-sentence.

"What's her name?" He interrupted. Sam looked confused.

"I didn't say anything about a girl," Sam trailed off. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Geez, Sammy! If you love drama so much, you should go be an actor. You ain't foolin' anybody. We both know where this is goin' so just cut to the chase!" Dean sighed, opening a trunk and tossing in the gun he'd been holding along with several knives. His small outburst had startled his younger brother, but Dean didn't really care. Sam wasn't the only one who hadn't slept in 48 hours. Sleep was calling and Dean wanted nothing more than to answer. Sam frowned.

"Marty. The girl's name is Marty," Sam stated, sounding rather put out that Dean had guessed at his not-so-cleaver ploy. The older if the pair turned to the younger with a perplexed expression.

"Wait, wait. **_Marty_**?" He clarified. Amused disbelief written all over his features.

"Marty," Sam confirmed.

" _Marty?_ "

"Yeah. Marty."

"Like the zebra in Madagascar, Marty?" Dean asked, grinning. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, like that. But remember, you didn't hear anything from me!" He answered, smiling as well. Dean laughed as he turned his attention back to the mess of clothing and weapons surrounding him on the floor.

"Yeah, whatever, drama queen." Dean rolled his eyes and kept working. The room was silent for a moment before the older Winchester burst out laughing again. He couldn't help himself; he found the subject hilarious.

"Ah, man. Marty! Now there's a name!" He exclaimed as he started folding the few clean clothing items laying in the pile. "What? Did her parents just take one look at her and say: _'Look at our beautiful baby! Let's name her **Marty**_!'" Dean scoffed.

Sam snorted and shook his head at his older brother's bad joke. Then he leaned his head back and yawned.

"Man, I think we need some sleep," Sam sighed. Dean smirked.

"Is it your bedtime already?" He taunted, expecting a playful retort. But this time, Sam didn't argue. He just nodded.

"Yeah, I think it is." Though worried about his little brother, Dean held his playful smirk in place perfectly, just like he had been doing for so many years.

"Well, you go ahead and hit the sack. I'll finish up here." He said, easily. Even though he was just as tired and Sam was, he would finish out like always. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, o'course. There's not much left anyway." That was a lie and they both knew it, but Sam took the offer of sleep while it was on the table.

"Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam patted his older brother on the arm as he stood and left the room. Traveling down the corridor he got to his bedroom and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Meanwhile, Dean mouthed the strange name of Jack's mystery girl and chuckled about it to himself. Sitting on the floor in his room as he continued folding the rest of the clean clothes, cleaning out all the weapons and putting everything back in its place. The chore took him two more hours to complete but when it was done, he stretched himself out and laid back on his bed.

"Marty. Now, that's hilarious." Dean snickered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

_~ Don't wanna seem eager, I gotta be cool  
The last thing I want is to look like a fool_

_Sorry, I never quite seem like myself  
It's just the low confidence cards I've been dealt  
I'm willing to sway to any point of view  
That'll make me a bit more appealing to you ~_

_Lyrics from: Sorry, haha I Fell Asleep by Egg_

**Author’s Note: I would just like to thank you guys for being here, it means a lot. Also, a few things to clarify, this is an AU where Jack defeated Michael and his father at the end of the season 13 timeline. Other changes are as follows: Mary is dead she died in apocalypse world, Gabriel survived and went on his merry way. These changes are for the plot of this fic and NOT for my own preferences.**

**Thank you for your time! Enjoy!**


	3. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers...

Chapter Three: Wouldn’t It Be Nice

_~ Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?_   
_Then we wouldn't have to wait so long_   
_And wouldn't it be nice to live together_   
_In the kind of world where we belong? ~_

It was 7:00 AM and the sun was up and out, and so too were the people. True to the fashion of only the grumpiest of bears, the bleary-eyed citizens of Copper Harbor were up and sleepwalking to work, falling asleep at red lights, and glaring into the black depths of their coffee as they tried to find a will to wake up or a reason to keep existing. Or both. Horns blared, children cried, people cursed, and that one guy slammed his head into a pole as he stared at a dude dressed as Batman who was directing traffic. (I don't think he had the authority to do that, but I wasn't going to challenge him.) All and all it was a fairly normal morning. At least in this town.

Like the entire population of Copper Harbor, a grand total of 100 or so permanent residents, I too hated mornings. But not for the same reason everyone else did. Sensory overload is my constant companion, but it's never worse than it is from 7:00 to 9:00 AM. That’s another reason I was staying in Copper Harbor. You could probably fit the town's entire population in the auditorium of the local high school. But even here, I could hardly stand the headache the morning rush gave me. I don't think I could bear living in a big city.

Although this time, things weren't as bad as they normally were because this time, I had a distraction. Engrossed in my conversation with my new friend, I managed to block out some of the noise. I found it rather strange that someone would be willing to keep chatting for so long, it had been hours and hours. I kept waiting for Jack to tell me that he had to go or something, but he never did. When I asked about it, he just said he couldn't sleep. Eventually, I knew it was me who was going to have to end the conversation. I had things to do, and I knew that, but I didn't want to be the one to say goodbye.

"Are you gonna get moving, or are you gonna keep talking to your new boyfriend?" A voice asked from above me. I looked up.

Perched atop a large green dumpster to my left, sat a boy who looked around the age of 18. He had fair skin and auburn hair that was long enough to show off its gorgeous natural curls while not being long enough to be annoying. (I was absolutely jealous of his hair. The guy's locks were heavenly!) He wore a playful smirk on his face and his hazel eyes flashed as they crinkled up at the corners, alight with mischief. He held his face between his hands and tried to flutter his eyelashes in an attempt to mock me. "Do you wuv him, Marty? Do you wuv your wittole Jack? Tell me how much you wuv him!" He teased. I rolled my eyes. I knew this boy well. His name was Isaac, and he was a royal pain in my behind.

"Isaac?" I addressed him, sweetly. Swiveling my head to peer up at him, I smiled the fakest smile I could muster.

"Yes, Marty?" Isaac asked, matching my level of false sincerity.

"Do the world a favor, sweetie, and shut your mouth," I told him. Isaac just grinned at me.

"No!"

I rolled my eyes.

"If I could throw a rock at you right now, I would," I huffed.

"But, alas, you cannot!" Isaac smirked and slid off of the dumpster. He landed on his feet before coming to stand over me. I didn't look up at him.

"One of these days I'm gonna find a way," I muttered.

"You've been saying that for five years and yet you've never made good on that threat. Are you ever going to put your money where your mouth is?" He taunted. I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed.

Using the wall behind me as support, I shakingly pulled myself to my feet. Despite every part of my body screaming for me to stop, I stretched myself out. Now, I looked up at the boy in front of me.

Isaac was just a little under six feet tall and scrawny like a twig. His good looks would have had all the girls chasing him. Isaac looked like most other boys his age in terms of physique. That is, if you excluded the massive gaping wound, red and raw, that decorated most of the right side of his neck.

The wound remained there, frozen, as fresh as the day he received it. It remained as fresh as the day it killed him. His pale, ashen skin and the purple rings surrounding his young, hopeful eyes bore the tell-tale signs of death by blood loss.

Isaac was a ghost.

"Don't you have something, _anything_ , better to do?" I asked, glaring at him.

"Nope!" He replied, popping the 'P'. "But you do! So, tell your boyfriend bye-bye and get going!" I huffed at him but did as I was told.

** Sent: 9:19 AM **

**Sorry, Jack but I have to go now. Thanks for talking to me!**

** Received: 9:20 AM **

**Okay, I guess I'll talk to you later. Have a great day and stay safe!**

I smiled at Jack's simple kindness and tucked my phone into my back pocket. When I looked up, Isaac was standing there and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Ya done, lovebird?" He sighed dramatically. I gave him a prim little nod.

"I am indeed─" I used my arm to motion to the mouth of the alleyway with a dramatic bow─ "Shall we be off then, my liege?" Isaac grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Forsooth! Onward my fair servant!" He began marching dramatically to the mouth of the alley and continued out onto the sidewalk. I shook my head and followed after him, without the marching. I guess that was one of the advantages of being a ghost, if nobody could see you, you could do any of the weird crap you wanted to do, and nobody would ever stare.

When I caught up to my cadaverous companion, I pulled my phone from my pocket and pretended to be calling someone. That was the only way I could talk to Isaac in front of the public eye without seeming insane. I didn't _think_ I was insane. But if I was, would I really know it?

"Isaac, I swear if you call me 'servant' again, I will _kill_ myself just so I can beat your sorry, spectral rear end into whatever is _after_ the after-life. Savvy?" I threatened. Isaac turned and started walking backwards, passing through several people that I then very-quickly had to dodge. Isaac could be a bit of a butt that way.

"Yes, Sir! I mean, Ma'am!" He exclaimed, sending me a mocking salute. I just groaned.

"Where _were_ you last night anyway?"

"Watching the Lord of the Rings marathon in the theater, Sir! I mean, Ma'am!"

"Remind me, why do I let you hang around again?" I muttered, quieter than before. "Excuse me." I had to shove my way past a rather beefy guy who was smoking and blocking the entrance to the town's minimart. Isaac just walked through him. He waited until I got inside to answer the question that I had intended to be rhetorical.

"Because I'm adorable, cheerful, and useful to your criminal lifestyle. So, what are we stealing today?" I grimaced at his comment.

"First of all, it's not criminal for me to survive. Second, is it really stealing if I have no way to get money? And third, I need a hairbrush, some hair ties and a jacket because this cardigan is definitely not enough," I said through clenched teeth as I smiled and nodded at the teenage girl behind the counter. She was tall, blond, and I would bet 10 bucks that her name was Tiffany. She nodded back and resumed whatever it was she was doing on her phone. Isaac however was not done talking to me and ticked his reactions to my comments off on his fingers.

"One, true. Two, yup. And three, cool, but that last one's gonna be hard."

"Well in that case, I guess you better do your job really well. See, ya on the other side, mate."

Isaac grinned lopsidedly at me and I pretended to hang up the phone.

I walked further into the store and pretended to look at the hair care section. I gave Isaac the signal, scratching the back of my head. Isaac swept his hand along the length of a shelf, knocking all the containers of peanut butter to the floor. The girl behind the counter whipped her head around to look at me with wide eyes. She looked from me to the peanut butter and back to me. Gaping at the good 15 feet of distance between me and the fallen peanut butter.

"What was that?" She asked, apprehensively. I gazed back at her with wide eyes of my own.

"I have no idea. They just fell off. All by themselves!" I lied. Isaac snickered. The cashier raked a hand through her hair and hopped over the counter to pick up the fallen peanut butter.

While she was paying attention that, I scooped up some hair ties and tucked them into the hidden pocket I had sewed into the inside of my cardigan. Snatching up a brush, I stuffed it into one of my too-big, black, knee-high boots I wear specifically for this purpose. Then, I moved to help the girl with the peanut butter situation. I ducked down and grasped one of the jars that had rolled underneath the shelving unit and handed it to her with a smile. She then put it back on the shelf.

"Thanks for your help, sweetie!" She said, talking down to me. I struggled to hold my smile. I didn't like being talked down to. I don't care what I look like. Even taking _that thing_ into account, she wasn't that much older than me!

"It's no problem, miss!" I raised the pitch of my voice to sound more chipper and innocent, adding in the 'miss' part to feed into her clear superiority complex. I then moved over to the section that held a bunch of jackets and coats hanging from hooks attached to the walls. I waved Isaac over to me with a quick movement of my head that most others would mistake for me flipping my hair. Isaac meandered his way through a few shelving racks and over to me. I pulled out my phone and started typing, letting Isaac read over my shoulder.

**Big distraction this time.**   
**Make it mean.**   
**She called me 'sweetie'.**

Isaac nodded.

"Aye, aye! ... Sweetie."

I shot him a scowl and went back to perusing the jackets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isaac push against one of the free-standing shelving units. It teetered and groaned before toppling to the linoleum floor with an ear-splitting bang. The head if the cashier girl shot up and she gasped before letting out a rather un-lady like stream of cuss words. Sprinting over to the fallen shelf, she desperately tried to get it back upright.

I took my chance.

I seized a fluffy black coat from one of the racks and booked my butt out of the mini-mart. The girl looked up as I pushed my way out the door.

"Hey! Stop! THEF! THEF!" She shrieked. I grinned and dashed down the sidewalk. When I reached the end of the street, I looked back and saw that cashier chasing me. I decided to show off a little. Scampering down a back alley, I boosted onto a convenient dumpster and sprung upward. The distance from the top of the dumpster to the first wrung of the ladder that led to the rooftop, was an impossible height for any normal person to jump.

My hands latched onto the freezing second wrung.

The cashier stumbled into the alleyway, gasping when she saw me hanging from the ladder. Like I said, it should have been an impossible distance to jump. I smirked at her disbelief and giggled, flicking my wrist in a wave before clambering up the ladder and to the top of the roof.

Sprinting across the roof top, I skipped to the edge and bounded over. I closed my eyes and pushed off with all my might. The wind rushed through my hair and past my face and then...

My feet crunched onto the gravel as I landed on the next rooftop.

The rooftop that had previously been twenty feet away.

An impossible distance for any normal person. Key-word normal. But that was just it. I wasn't normal.

I heard someone cheer from across the street and I looked up. Dan the Dope Man, our little town's resident dealer, was shaking his fist, hooting and hollering. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to me.

"You go, Marty! Woo hoo!" He applauded me. I waved at him as I rushed to this roof's end. Reaching the edge, I did a parkour flip and touched down firmly on the next one.

The cashier girl was determined, I had to give her that. She chased me from the ground for about three more blocks before she collapsed, exhausted, onto a bench. I kept running along the rooftops, getting the occasional holler of encouragement from some enthused passerby. I leapt one last time onto the roof of Copper Harbor's town hall.

It was one of those really old town hall buildings. Like the ones in the movies. It was made of brick had a clock tower and everything. The whole old-timey shebang. Scaling onto the top of the clock tower, I grasped the spire and leaned outward over my little paradise town.

"GOOD MORNING COPPER HARBOR!" I shouted into the crisp morning breeze.

Even though it wasn't exactly pleasant, I let the few rays of sun light shine on my face as they peaked through the thick, gray winter sky. I could only take a few minutes of the direct sunshine, even as weak as it was, before I had to make my way back down the tower. I missed the days when I could lie in the sun for hours without feeling any sort of sting. Those days were now long past. When I got back to the flat part of the building's roof, Isaac was there, waiting on me.

" _That_ was corny as _Hell_. You don't live in a frickin' movie." He criticized, smirking at me. I shook my hair out and brushed it back, securing it with one of my freshly nicked hair ties.

"Yeah, I know!" I replied cheerfully, feeling in a much better mood than I had been in earlier that morning. I always felt better after a run.

"One of these days I should push you off that tower just to see your face," Isaac said. I smirked at him.

"Well, if I fall, I might crush this." Reaching into my cardigan's secret pocket I extracted a five-inch Darth Vader figurine. Isaac glared at me, shaking his finger.

"If you so much as _scratch_ Lord Vader, I swear I'll strangle you." Isaac was very protective if that figurine. Probably because his soul was tied to it. Yes, that's right. Isaac's soul was tied to a Darth Vader action figure.

"5 years you've been saying that. Are you ever you gonna put your money where your mouth is?" I jeered, quoting him from earlier that morning. Isaac frowned.

"You're not funny you know," he said.

"What are you talking about? I'm hilarious!" I scoffed with a wave of my hand.

"Let's just go home. We'll do the other thing later," Isaac sighed. I grinned at him and ran to the edge of the roof, gesturing to the snow-covered hills leading away from the town.

"And our hero sauntered off into the snow beside her trusty, albeit annoying, cadaverous compatriot!"

"Shut up."

"No!"

  
So the two of us left the main town and trudged over hills blanketed with almost a foot of snow. Isaac of course had no problems with the snow, walking easily over it, he made no footprints. When we came to the forest on the edge of the town, I quickly spotted the treehouse nestled between three trees about 20 feet from the start of the woods. We were home.

The tree house was built about 18 feet or so from the ground and the ladder that had once led into it was now long gone. It still laid where it had the day we’d found it, splintered and rotting under a foot of snow. Though we didn't know who had built it, Isaac and I both thanked them every day. Striding over to the thickest of the three trees the tree house was built into, I reached up and snagged the bundle of rope, thick and a little frayed we kept hidden inside a hallow knot in the wood. The other end of the rope was tied to a hook inside the tree house and I used it to climb my way inside.

I dragged the heavy wooden cover over the tree houses entrance hole then stood and surveyed my little home. It was fairly large, about 7 feet high, 20 feet long and 8 feet wide. There were blankets and pillows strewn about a mattress on the floor, a violin in the far-left corner, and a small table with a sketchbook and chess set sitting on it and two chairs set up to play. It wasn't much, but it was home now.

I walked to the shelf that lined the wall on my right and tugged this morning's spoils from their various places on my body, tossing them on the shelf. Carefully fingering Isaac's Darth Vader, I placed it gently next to my beautiful snow globe. A sudden feeling of longing washed over me, and I ached for the life I used to live. The life that I could never have back.

A silent tear slid down my cheek.

"It wasn't your fault, Marty," Isaac reminded me gently, appearing from thin air just behind me.

"I know." I turned back to him. "But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know you wish you could go back and change things. I do too. But we can't, we just have to keep going. You'll find your place in this world, I know it!" He said, trying to be encouraging. I smiled at him weakly.

"Isaac, we're not supposed to be here. Neither of us belong in this world, and I wish we did. There's just no room for us. And I wish there was, that would be nice, but there's not. Not anymore. I'm gonna be stuck right here in this same moment forever. Just like I have been for the last 5 years. Deep down you know that. But at least you can move on."

"I'm not gonna move on until I can take you with me. I'm not gonna break my promise. We're going to heaven together, remember?" He tried. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand but more just streamed down to take their place.

"Even when I do die eventually, I won't be going to heaven."

"Don't lose hope, Marty. Please?"

"I already lost it, Isaac. I lost it a long time ago. Thinking about it only makes things worse."

_~ Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?_   
_Then we wouldn't have to wait so long_   
_And wouldn't it be nice to live together_   
_In the kind of world where we belong?_

_You know it seems the more we talk about it  
It only makes it worse to live without it  
But let's talk about it  
  
_

_Oh, wouldn't it be nice? ~_

_Lyrics from: Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys_


	4. I'm Not Famous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is very tired. Poor soul.

Chapter Four: I’m Not Famous

~ _It don't matter what my name is_  
 _I don't got one, I'm not famous, no_  
 _And I don't hate it, no~_

When Dean Winchester opened his eyes, he found that he was no longer in bed. Which was strange because he distinctly remembered falling asleep in the aforementioned place. He flicked his eyes about to try to determine where exactly he was. After just a few minutes, his foggy and sleep doused brain finally made sense of the information his body was feeding him.

Dean came to the unfortunate conclusion that he had fallen out of bed. Despite how unhappy he was with the results of his deduction; Dean was amazed that he had only woken up quite a while after the minor tragedy and not during the action of falling out of bed.

He must have been _very_ tired.

But that was remedied now, and Dean felt ready to take on anything... In a few minutes. He'd have to get some coffee first. Peeling himself off the floor, he stumbled to the door and into the hall, making his way toward the smell of food wafting from the kitchen.

Now, whatever thoughts Dean had about his coherency when he walked into the kitchen and stuffed a bagel in his mouth, were not shared by the other two people in the room. If they hadn't known any better, Jack and Sam would have thought Dean was a zombie. A zombie who was hungry for bagels instead of a certain cognitive organ.

"Good morning Dean! Did you sleep well?" Jack greeted, chipper as usual. Dean frowned, snatching the entire pot of coffee, and sitting down with it at the table across from Jack.

"Mmmnhhaamuuuvggh."

"Understandable. Enjoy your coffee," Jack replied to whatever it was Dean had been trying to say. Sam raised his eyebrows at his older brother's lack of cognitive function but said nothing. It amazed Sam that he and his brother could be so different.

After a few silent minutes of nursing his coffee, the smallest bit of light began to shine through Dean's eyes. The waking process had begun. Just like the Windows 8 operating system, Dean's waking process was extremely and notoriously slow. But now Sam knew that if he were to begin a conversation with his brother, Dean would at least be able to understand it, if not participate.

"It's 10:45 Dean, just so you know, you slept for twenty-two hours," Sam informed. Dean's eyebrows flinched upward just a fraction of an inch. He clearly was yet to regain control over his facial muscles.

"Mumnnafubnna," He groaned. Jack held back a chuckle for Dean's morning state, he knew laughing out loud wouldn't go well for him. Dean wasn't someone you wanted to laugh at because Dean knew how to get revenge. A prank war was not something you wanted to entice Dean into. He would _always_ win.

"Oh, and uh, Cas is back," Sam said. Dean looked up.

"Hm?"

"Woah, there. Careful Dean, that was almost a word!" Sam teased. Dean swallowed a piece of bagel he'd been gnawing on.

"Where?" He croaked out. Sam was about to answer but never got the chance.

"I'm right behind you, Dean." Dean jumped and spat some bagel out onto the table. Whipping his head around he glared at Cas. Jack couldn't help but snicker.

"Mmhn. Nah. Funny. Cas," Dean managed to grid out of his morning stupor. Castiel only shrugged and sat down at the table beside Dean.

"So, uh, Cas, how'd that thing go with the twenty bucks or whatever it was?" Sam asked their resident angel. Castiel frowned.

"The twenty tailed buck," He corrected.

"Yeah, that." Castiel sighed.

"No luck."

"Sorry to hear that." Cas nodded and shrugged again. Jack patted his arm.

"I'm sure you'll have better luck next time!" Jack encouraged.

"Next time is in seven hundred and eighty-two years," Cas sighed.

"Who's counting!" Jack tried to joke. Cas didn't laugh. Sometimes it could be very hard talking to Castiel.

"But I did find us a lead," The angel said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table. The rest at the table looked up. "A very interesting one."

"Spill," Dean commanded, grumbling. Cas glanced at the bagel-eating zombie on his left and briefly wondered how Dean Winchester could be one of the best hunters in the world.

"There appears to be some extremely powerful ghost activity going on in northern Michigan. I was passing by a store and saw it on the news," Castiel told them, nodding seriously.

"You saw it on the news?" Sam asked, skeptical.

"Yes. The anchor woman said the video recording was 'going viral' or something like that," Cas answered, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Huh."

Sam pulled out his lap-top and began typing away. Jack briefly wondered how it was that Sam's laptop was always nearby when he needed it, but he quickly decided that he didn't want to dwell on that question and went back to his cereal.

"Cas, do you know where in Michigan this was?" Sam asked, looking up. Castiel nodded.

"Yes, I believe it was a Bronze Port- wait no. It was-"

"Was it Copper Harbor?"

Cas blinked before nodding again.

"Yes, I think that was it."

"Well, I think I found the video." Sam turned the laptop around for the rest to see.

Displayed on the screen was a video of the security footage of a minimart. Though it wasn't very mini for a mart. The footage was taken in black and white and although it was somewhat grainy, it was still clear enough to see the subjects. A young woman walked into the store, talking to someone on her phone. She nodded at the cashier and went to look for something in the hair care isle. Everything seemed normal, before a shelf full of peanut butter flew off the rack and crashed to the floor. Like someone had dragged their hand along the shelf and knocked everything off. But the young woman had been the only one in the store and she hadn't been anywhere near the peanut butter.

"Hey! Did you see that?" Jack exclaimed.

"What? See what?" Sam asked pausing the video.

"That woman stole something right when the peanut butter when flying. Watch it again!"

Sure enough, Jack was right. The woman had snatched some hair ties and a brush, stuffing them in a pocket and her boot, the second after the peanut butter tumbled to the floor. The four hunters kept watching. The girl who had stolen the brush and hair ties walked over to the cashier, who was picking up the fallen peanut butter. The camera never caught a glimpse of the thief's face as she ducked down and picked up one of the peanut butter jars and handed it to the cashier. Then the thief walked over to look at the jackets. She whipped out her phone and started typing something.

"What is she doing?" Castiel wondered aloud.

On the screen, the woman flipped her hair and leaned her phone outward, as if showing it to someone looking over her shoulder. But of course, there was nobody there. Then the woman tucked her phone away and went back to looking at the jackets hanging on the wall.

"Look, look, look! Right there! Did you see that?" Jack hastily pointed at a spot on the screen.

"I didn't see anything," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Rewind it and slow it down."

Sam did as Jack said. Rewinding a few seconds.

The thief on the screen went back to examining the jackets again. Jack pointed to that same spot as last time.

"Right there!"

This time Sam, Cas and Dean all saw what Jack was talking about. A face flickered into view by one of the shelves. Then, for a split second an entire ghostly form could be seen making a rude gesture at the camera, just before that shelf crashed to the floor. The thief grabbed a jacket off the rack and dashed out of the mini-mart just slightly faster than humanly possible. But the Winchesters and their two angelic companions didn't notice that part. They were too focused on the ghost. Sam sat back in his chair.

"Looks, legit. Should we check it out?"

"Yes." Jack and Cas said at the same time.

"No," Said Dean. The rest of the merry troop looked at him. "It looks legit. Doesn't mean it is." He shrugged, finishing the rest of his coffee.

"We've done more on less," Sam argued. "Besides," He continued scrolling on the laptop, "from what it says here, this isn't the only case in Copper Harbor. Crap like this has happened all over the town! Crazy, unexplainable disturbances followed by missing items. Reports go back for the last five years!"

"So that thief is using a ghost to help her steal stuff?" Jack asked, clearly exited.

"Yeah, and not just material items. Most of these reports come from the local hospital. She's stealing blood." Sam looked up at Dean who nodded.

"Sounds good enough for me."

*******

"And that's checkmate, again!" Isaac shouted triumphantly. I moaned and slammed my head against the table.

"How?! How are you so good at chess?!" I shouted, my frustration at being beaten for the eighth time in a row was reaching critical mass.

"I have two words for you," Isaac smirked, counting the words off on his fingers, "Chess. Club."

"Uuuuggghhhaaa!!!"

"Wanna rematch?" I snapped my head to look back up at him.

"No!" I hurriedly shoved the chess pieces out of the way and brought out the checkers. "We're doing checkers! Lets see who's king _now!_ " Isaac just shrugged.

"More humiliation for you, I guess."

"We'll see about that, pretty boy!"

"Mommy, mommy! She called me pretty!"

"I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"You're dead so it doesn't count."

"Well, that's just hurtful," Isaac pouted.

I smirked and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through the news and memes as I waited for Isaac to take his turn. He was always slow at checkers. As I scrolled passed a rather painful dad joke, I saw something that first caught my eye and then made my blood run cold.

"Your turn!" Isaac said. I didn't reply. I couldn't.

"Honestly, I don't know what makes you think you can beat me."

I tried to speak up.

"Isaac?"

He wasn't paying attention.

"I mean when have you ever beaten me?"

"Isaac."

"And don't say that one time with the ping-pong because we both know that doesn't count!"

"ISAAC!"

Now he looked up.

"What?"

I swallowed.

"You know how you said you always wanted to be famous?" I asked him weakly. I felt sick.

"No, no! I never said I wanted to be famous. I said I wanted to be a meme. There's a difference," Isaac said, smiling.

"Isaac?"

"Yeah, that’s my name. Why do you sound like you're gonna barf?" I turned my phone to let him see what was displayed on my screen and apparently millions of others. The footage of me and Isaac in the mini-mart.

"I think we just hit the prime time..." I said. Isaac looked up at me, if his pale, dead face could have gotten paler, I'm sure it would.

"Well, crap."

~ _It don't matter what my name is,_  
 _I don't got one I'm not famous._  
 _No._  
 _And I don't hate it, no!_  
 _Cause', I'm not famous,_  
 _No!~_

_Lyrics from: I'm Not Famous by AJR_


	5. If We Have Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hail Dan.

Chapter Five: If We Have Each Other

~ _When the world's not perfect_  
 _When the world's not kind_  
 _If we have each other then we'll both be fine._  
 _I will be your brother_  
 _and I'll hold your hand._  
 _You should know I'll be there for you._  
 _I will always be there for you~_

"Dude, we are in some serious jelly," I proclaimed as I paced around the small perimeter of the tree house.

"And that jam!" Isaac added from where he remained sitting at the table.

"Tight spot."

"Indeed!"

"Up a tree!" I supplied.

"Lost in the grass!" He offered. I swung around, shaking my finger at him.

"I'll tell ya what's grass, our- AAH FRACKLES!" I had stepped on a stray nail in one of the floorboards. Hobbling my way back into my chair, I clunked my head against the table.

"But look at the bright side." Isaac leaned back in his chair. "Seeing as how our grand-theft-hairbrush is going viral and all, there is still a chance that me flipping the camera off could become a meme!" He pointed out. Slowly, I raised my head to stare at him.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Consider it, Marty! All it took was five years being dead and now I'm finally fulfilling my life-long dream! If I'd known it was this easy, I would have killed myself a long time ago and spared me all that drama and emotional damage," Isaac smirked. I shook my head, my gaze drifted back to the Vader figure and snow globe sitting side-by-side on the shelf.

"Please don't talk like that Isaac," I sighed. Isaac's face fell.

"Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking," He apologized. I nodded.

"It's okay." It wasn't, but what more could be said when you didn't want to speak?

"Hey," Isaac spoke softly, ducking his head to get me to look at him, "Even if things go sour, I'm gonna be here for you. Just like I promised. Through thick and thin, remember?"

"Through thick and thin."

Smiling weakly, I repeated our life long mantra. I took a deep breath and focused back in on the problem.

"Alright, man. We gotta figure out a game plan. That video is gonna bring every hunter and their mom up here to ice our, or **_my_** , gluteus maximus. And if they know about the minimart then they know about the hospital. So, what's our play?"

"Well, I say you use your Sweet-Talkin' thing and talk any o'those alcoholic weirdos out of it," Isaac suggested. I shook my head.

"Isaac, you know how much I hate doing that."

Although it was a tempting idea, **_that_** wasn't something I wanted to mess with. If you start playing with the dark things, the dark things start playing with you. That wasn't a concept I liked, but Isaac would never understand that.

"I'm just saying it’s an option! And an easy one at that," Isaac pushed. I glared at him.

"I'm not doing that."

"It might come to it, Marty. I'm just saying as a plan C it-"

"The answer is no! Moving on." My tone killed and buried the subject. Isaac raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine. But misinformation is still our strongest tool. We should use it. Tell anybody who asks that it was all done on a computer," He conceded.

"Alright, that's plan A. What's plan B?" Isaac's face twisted in thought. I let him do any and all planning when it came to telling a lie because he was so much better at making it convincing than I was. Isaac was the king of spouting believable bull crap. In fact, he would have made and excellent demon. That guy could probably get an angel to sell its soul for a box of holy doughnuts. When the idea hit Isaac's brain, I could almost see a light bulb light up above his head. He leaned forward, exited.

"Okay, I got it. We make up some BS story about a gay black dude who got chopped up by the ferry or something and the hospital wouldn't help him because all the doctors were racist homophobes, and it was the 50's." He nodded at me very seriously. Like I said, Isaac was king.

"That's is the worst, most ridiculous and stupid story I have ever heard," I told him. Isaac's nodding grew more excited. "It's perfect. They'll buy every word. Just one thing though, what about the mini-mart?" I pointed out.

Isaac opened his mouth before closing it again. Then he opened it. Then he closed it. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. This happened several more times before he finally came up with something good.

"So, our gay black guy was also a nice hobo dude and after he died he started stealing crap to give to his hobo buddies." Isaac gave me a thumbs up. I nodded.

"Okay, sounds good, sounds good. How do we explain me?" I splayed my hands. Isaac huffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back again and tucking his hands behind his head.

"Well, that’s easy. The camera never even caught a glimpse of your face, so you're his anonymous theft buddy slash item distributer!" He explained. I grinned at my fantastic phantasmal co-conspirator.

"Excellent, and of course nobody knows who the thief is. Especially not, innocent little me!" I chuckled at his brilliance.

"Exactly!" Isaac smirked.

"It's perfect! Except one last thing. We're gonna need some eyes and ears in on this. Someone to alert us when someone fishy comes lurking about," I said. Isaac nodded seriously.

"You're right. But who can we trust around here?" He asked. I could feel the smile split across my face.

"I can think of only one man for this job. A man as trustworthy as he is slimy. A man scrubbed clean by his own filth. A man so wonderful, words do him no justice!" I declared dramatically. Isaac was confused for a moment before realization dawned. His face fell.

"Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"I think I am." I grinned. Isaac just sighed.

"Marty, no."

"Marty, yes!"

\- 45 minutes later-

"Yo! Danny, my man! How's life?" I called out. Dan-the-Dope-Man looked up from...whatever it was he was doing outside Copper Harbor's one and only pharmacy. The pharmacy which he, in fact, owned. Honestly, I didn't want to know exactly what he had been doing behind the pile of cardboard boxes that were stacked up against the moldy brick. I figured it was better if I didn't. Dan smiled a grin that was missing two teeth.

"Marty! My worst customer and only friend! Life's good!" He greeted me, kicking a few of the boxes over to hide whatever suspicious activity it was that he had been up to. He winked and walked over to me, pushing his absolutely disgusting blond hair out of his face. "But, you know, business is betta'," He concluded.

I could never tell how tall Dan was, in this form especially. See, Dan-the-Dope-Man was a shapeshifter, though of course, no one else in the town knew that. That's how he was the owner of the pharmacy as well as a drug dealer. His other form, Jonathan De’ Santos, was the tall, 40-year-old, honest-looking Hawaiian man that ran the pharmacy. In this form, however, Dan was a somewhere-in-the-upper-five-foot-range Caucasian guy from Brooklyn with a thing against bathing. He said that the grungy, sewer-rat look was better for his side business. I wasn't sure how much of that I bought, but then again, who's gonna buy drugs from the guy who's supposed to make sure you _don't_ destroy yourself with them.

"I bet it is!" I said, taking a step back when he reached me because, like I said, the guy had a thing against hygiene.

"This is a terrible, terrible idea," Isaac muttered, leaning on the wall to my left. I couldn't reply to him because although Dan knew what I was he didn't know about Isaac. So all I could do was give him a rude gesture behind my back. He saw it and stuck his tongue out at me.

"What can I do fo' ya, Marty?" Dan always pronounced my name as 'Mawty' at least in this form as it had a Brooklyn accent.

"Well, o' Danny boy, I have some rather bad news to deliver," I continued, "There might be some hunters coming to town soon."

Dan frowned; his eyes narrowed at me as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Well, that ain't good. Whatt'id ya do, Marty?" He asked. Sometimes Dan could be like my older brother, even if he didn't realize it.

"Woah, woah, woah! Who said I did anything?!" I defended. Dan just raised an eyebrow.

"You're always showin' off and ya know it," He said simply.

"He's right, you know," Isaac interjected. I wished I could tell him to shut his eidolic cake hole. It wouldn't have made much of a difference if I could, as he would still have continued talking, but the principle remained the same. Isaac was annoying. He needed to shut his mouth now and again. But I couldn't say that right now because he was a flipping ghost and ghosts are invisible. Mostly.

Ignoring Isaac, I opened my mouth to try to argue with Dan but quickly closed it again when found that I couldn't, because he was absolutely right. Now, I couldn’t admit that to him because Isaac was right here and that would be saying that he was right about something, and that was a thing I would never hear the end of.

"In regards," I started again.

"You'd just say 'regardless'," Isaac chimed in. I had to physically bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him to shut up.

" _Regardless_ ," I corrected. Isaac chuckled. I really needed to get myself some iron gauntlets or something so I could give his apparitional arse an involuntary appendectomy. Or just an iron ring so I could punch him in the face.

" _Regardless_ , it wasn't me. This time. It was some attention seeking moron with a computer. That combined with my little hospital trips and you get something fishy looking." I finally managed to finish my sentence without Isaac chiming in.

"Well then ya betta' keep ya head down, Marty. I don' wan' ya gettin hurt." A dark look crossed over Dan's usually upbeat face. "Or worse," He finished.

"I know Danny, which is why I need you to do something for me," I said. Isaac sighed and face palmed but I ignored it.

"What?" Dan asked.

"I need you to watch out for any newcomers asking weird questions. I've got a plan if any hunters get too close to us, I just need to know who and where they are," I told him.

See, the pharmacy, the mini-mart, the bar, and the barber shop all sat across from each other at a four way intersection. Thus, Dan would have an excellent view of any hunter's first two targets. The origin of the supernatural activity, in this case the mini-mart, and the bar. He would be the perfect spy. Dan looked at me strangely.

"Say, Marty, you ain't plannin' on gankin' any a' dose' suckas' now are ya?" He asked, caution evident in his voice. I sighed, shaking my head internally. This was just another downside of being what I was. Everybody thinks you're a murderer. Though I knew I was far from innocent, I had never killed anyone. At least, anyone who didn't deserve it.

"Come on, Danny. In all the time you've known me, have I ever, er, _ganked_ anyone?" I asked him, spreading my hands as if to catch the obvious answer.

"Well, no. But people can change," Dan pointed out. I rolled my eyes.

"Dan, I'm not gonna kill anyone. There, ya happy?" I said, only mildly aggravated. Isaac decided it was time to speak up again.

"You may not. But I will. If it comes to that. I won't let anybody hurt you, Marty. Not again. Not when I can do something about it."

I knew he was saying this now so I wouldn't be able to argue with him. Then I would forget and if he did kill someone Isaac would say he'd said he would. I ground my teeth together and reminded myself that it wasn't going to come to that. I wouldn't let it.

Meanwhile, Dan thought about what I'd spoken aloud.

"Yeah okay, but if anybody comes sniffin' I'm skippin', kay?" He agreed. I nodded.

"Okay, take care of yourself, Danny."

"You too, Marty." I smiled at him and began to walk away. Isaac pushed himself off the wall and trudged behind me, complaining loudly.

"Make sure you take care of yourself too, Issac! I'd hate myself if anything happened to you, Isaac! I wouldn't be able to survive without you, Isaac! Thanks Marty, your friendship means everything to me!" He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Ugh! Why do I even bother?"

I smirked giving him the sign for 'I love you' behind my back.

"Aw shut up!"

But I knew he was smiling.

_~So, I'm thankful for my sister even though sometimes we fight_   
_When high school wasn't easy, she's the reason I survived._   
_I know she'd never leave me and I hate to see her cry._   
_I just wanna tell her that I'm always by her side._   
_I just wanna tell her that..._

_The worlds not perfect,_   
_but it’s not that bad._   
_If we've got each other_   
_and that’s all we have_   
_I will be your brother_   
_and I'll hold your hand_   
_You should know I'll be there for you_   
_When the world's not perfect_   
_When the world's not kind_   
_If we have each other then we'll both be fine_   
_I will be your brother_   
_and I'll hold your hand_   
_You should know I'll be there for you._

_I will always be there for you.~_

Lyrics from: If We Have Each Other by Alec Benjamin


	6. I Don't Know You Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old towns are creepy...

Chapter Six: I Don’t Know You Yet

~ _How can you miss someone you've never met?_  
 _'Cause I need you now but I don't know you yet_  
 _But can you find me soon because I'm in my head?_  
 _Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet~_

Jack picked at a loose thread in his jeans as he stared out the window of Dean's 67' Chevy Impala. Staring out the window was doing him extraordinarily little in terms of entertainment seeing as there had been close to nothing to see ever since they had passed the border into Michigan. Outside there was white, white, - hey look that's a tree! - and yet more white. It was too white, too blank. Jack thought it lacked life, Michigan needed more color.

If there was one thing Jack Kline did not like about living with his strange little family, it was the car rides. They were long, the seats were a little uncomfortable, and they were horribly boring. Now, Jack never expressed his feelings regarding the car rides as Dean might actually throw him out the window of the speeding Impala. That was not an image Jack enjoyed entertaining.

Jack looked down at the old leather seats and his eyes locked on a bit of leather that was peeling away. He wanted to pluck it off as it was bothering him slightly, but again the image of getting thrown from the moving vehicle was enough to keep him picking at his jeans instead of Dean's leather seats. For the umpteenth time in the last few hours Jack wished for Sam's laptop, with its Netflix and near-permanent WIFI. But unfortunately for him, Sam had been using it to conduct further research on the area they were traveling to before it had died. Jack wasn't sure what there even was to research about the tiny town just off Lake Superior. (That name confused Jack as was the case with most things humans named. After all, why was one lake superior to any other and what did copper have to do with a harbor? He didn't understand but kept his confusion to himself.) Even Sam had said the town was boring.

"Honestly, I have no clue what could be going on here, Dean," Sam had said after around twenty minutes spent researching the town. "It looks like the town's sole purpose is to run the ferry to Isla Royal National Park and apart from every resident having at least three Bigfoot stories, I can't find anything remotely interesting. No horrific events, no tragic deaths, nothing."

"Well, I guess we'll have to ask around then," Dean had replied. Sam had just nodded and gone back to researching the seemingly perfect little town for another hour before the laptop had died.

So, Jack and the others sat in companionable silence and boredom. Beside him, even Castiel was twiddling his thumbs and upfront Sam looked like his long legs were killing him. But if nothing else the silence, although boring, wasn't awkward. At least it wasn't until Sam broke it. Jack had noticed that Sam always took it upon himself to start a conversation, even if it was an awkward one.

"So, uh, Jack. How-how's your friend doing?" He asked.

Correction: Especially if it was an awkward one.

Jacks fingers froze their jean-picking activities. He wasn't comfortable discussing this topic in front of Dean in case he got curious. Though the older Winchester's next remark dispelled his worry, if not his shame.

"Yeah, Jack. _How's Marty_?" Dean asked, trying to hold back a laugh. He'd been waiting to bring this up for the whole ride.

Jack's eyes flew wide and he snapped his head to look at Sam who sheepishly fixed his eyes on the road ahead. Jack couldn't help but feel betrayed.

"You told him?" He demanded. Sam shrugged a little.

"I thought it was kinda funny," He tried. Dean barked a laugh.

"It wasn't funny, Sammy. It was hilarious!"

Jack folded his arms and turned back to the window. Cas flicked his eyes between him and the boys.

"Did something happen that I should know about?" He asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

Sam and Dean then proceeded to tell the story of how Jack had come onto contact with Marty. Dean only chimed in when he had a joke to make about Marty's name and for some strange reason that he just couldn't put his finger on, Jack didn't like that.

"Her real name is Martina, and that's a beautiful name, so could you stop making fun of it?!" Jack's sudden outburst surprised everyone in the car, including him. "Please?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry Jack," Dean shut his mouth and kept driving but his eyes occasionally wandered to the Nephilim in the back seat, wondering what had set him off like that. Jack returned his gaze to the window, wondering the same thing.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Castiel reached out and laid his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Jack. Never stop being kind to those who deserve it," Castiel said. Jack nodded and smiled.

"Just so you know, we're like five minutes from the town. So, get ready to stretch your legs," Dean announced. The look on Sam's face held so much relief it was tangible.

Now, Jack had been to some small towns before but those were nothing compared to the sight that greeted him when the Impala rolled into Copper Harbor. Jack noticed two things right off the bat. The first was that he could see from one end of the town to the other and the second was that walking along the town's main street he could identify only nine people. The overall lack of life was disturbing to Jack for some reason he couldn't name. It was cold and it was dead. He didn't like it.

The architecture was mostly old and crumbling a little. The people, loving the vintage look of the town and not wanting to ruin the history and designs of the buildings, had let them fall into disrepair. The small upgrades and modern advancements that had been added to the historic landscape, felt out of place and awkward. Not quite present and not quite past. The entire town gave off this vibe of in between-ness that seemed to resonate and multiply, expressing itself in the weather, in the buildings, and in the people. Old yet young. Deserted yet populous. Alive but not awake. Copper Harbor was a town frozen in time.

The sky was dark and gray, even though it was noon. What was supposed to be a comforting blue-ness high above him was here a cold gray mass that constricted and choked him. Jack felt closed in and trapped, hidden away from the world and all the bright, warm, happy things in it. It was like the bleak, bitter, clouds were hiding every last ray of sunlight from the town and keeping it all for themselves. Jack decided he didn't like those selfish clouds.

"What did you say the population of this place was, Sammy?" Dean asked, perplexed at the lack of life.

"Uh, Google said seventy-one," Sam answered, equally bewildered.

"How do you even run a town with only seventy-one people?" Dean wondered aloud as the Impala reached the end of main street. He turned around and doubled back. The town's entire length couldn't have been more than three-hundred yards.

"Clearly by being a very small town," Cas noted. Dean scoffed.

"Clearly!"

Jack leaned closer to the window, letting his fingertips rest close to but not-quite-touching the glass. He watched as frost grew and creeped along the bottom of the window, right where his fingers rested. It was like the cold was reaching out, trying to drain all the warmth- all the life, from his skin. Jack drew his hands back, but the frosty fog still remained, lingering there like it was waiting - waiting to take him if he ever got close enough. He swallowed and stared at the slinking ice. Jack decided he didn't like the chilling, sinister rime.

After two more loops along the lifeless main street, Sam pointed to the mini-mart on the corner. The light up sign beside it was supposed to read: Marie and Morton Underwood's Mini-Mart. But only a few of the letters were working and it ended up reading: Mare Mortuos

Jack's eyes ended up skipping the unlit words and just reading the lit ones. He wished they hadn't. Putting the lit-up letters together like puzzle pieces, Jack's mind read them as Latin. Mare Mortuos; the sea of the dead. Now, Jack wasn't sure how he knew Latin, like other things such as walking and talking, he just knew it. Though now he wished he didn't. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to think of the eerie translation, the creeping ice, the selfish clouds and this whole frozen exanimate town.

"Okay, everybody out!" Dean ordered, Jack shivered as he stepped out of the car and into the sharp, frigid air.

He gasped, desperate for some fresh air. But the air here wasn't like the air back home. It was humid and heavy, full of ice and he felt like it was scraping his throat and lungs. It just added to the over-all feeling of being trapped.

"These people need to fix their sign," Castiel pointed out. Sam squinted at it, noticing it for the first time.

"Yeah, Sea of the Dead. Not exactly inviting is it?" He said.

Jack remembered he wasn't the only one that knew Latin and the thought comforted him. At least the others were mildly weirded out as well. At least he wasn't alone.

"You know, for a paradise town, this place is givin' me some weird vibes. Just sayin'." Dean reached into the glove compartments and pulled out the forged FBI badges. Jack smiled a little. If Dean Winchester was spooked here, then it was certainly acceptable for him to be as well.

***

** Received: 12: 45 PM **

**Marty, I saw a black Impala do a triple loop on Main and then park in front of the mini-mart. 4 guys got out. 3 older, 1 younger. They're talking to Tiffany the cashier gal.**

**-Dan**

***

"Well, there goes Plan A," I reported. I was lying on my stomach on the roof of the barber shop directly beside the mini-mart. Peering over the lip on the roof, I watched the four new-comers as they interviewed the blond cashier that had chased me the other day. Dan had informed me that her name was Tiffany Underwood, and her parents owned the place. I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't getting paid for her hours.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. W-why? Why 'there goes Plan A'?" Isaac gulped, sitting on the lip of the roof. He was trying to play at his usual cool, but now that the potential hunters were actually here, Isaac was freaking out. He was fidgeting with his fingers and tapping his foot, looking the same as always did right before taking a big test back when he was alive. If a hunter found him, they would burn his Darth Vader figure and force him to move on. Isaac wasn't afraid to move on; he was afraid of losing Lord Vader to the flames - again. I wished I had some words of comfort for him, but I didn't so I just answered his question.

"Those guys are talking to the witness and they’re using fake FBI badges. That could mean one of three things, one: they stole them and they're seriously good, two: they forged them and they're seriously good, or three: they acquired them either of those two ways, but it was a fluke and they're idiots. But even if these guys are idiots, they're not stupid. They'll know how to spot a liar, and it’s my word against little Tiffany's traumatized one. Which one is more convincing?" I glanced at him when I finished explaining. Isaac nodded and looked at the minimart nervously.

"Well, why can't they just be the FBI? I mean, it's not impossible, right?" He asked, rationalizing a bit. I tilted my head and flicked my finger in his direction, keeping my eyes on the mini mart and the probably not-FBI agents inside.

"True, lets jot that down as a fourth, but unlikely, possibility," I acknowledged. Isaac seemed slightly more at ease. Inside the mini-mart the probably not-FBI agents thanked cashier Tiffany and turned to leave.  
"Crap! Get down!" I ducked down under the lip on the roof and out of the sightline of anyone on the ground. Isaac jumped up in a panic. Then he realized what was going on and glared at me for getting him riled up.

"If I wasn't dead, I think you would have just given me a heart attack," He hissed. Of course, Isaac was a ghost so the whole, get down thing was unnecessary.

"Sorry, dude. Just forgot I guess," I apologized laughing a little and looking up at him from my position on the roof. Isaac crossed his arms.

"Not funny. Didn't laugh."

"Gotta admit, it was kinda funny."

"No."

For the rest of the afternoon, I followed from the roof tops and watched the four weirdos in the Impala ride around town and talk to the shopkeepers and whatever residents they were lucky enough to corner while inside. When they were finished in the business district, they moved on to the residential area and went knocking door-to-door like Jehovah Witnesses. I moved like a shadow, tailing the hunters from the cover of the thick pine trees that shadowed over the winding back-roads of the town. I kept myself hidden in the backwoods as they checked in at the cheapest motel in the town, which really wasn't cheap at all. The tall one with short brown hair seemed really mad about the motel's rates, that was another strike against them actually being FBI. Sometime around six the four of them went to get something to eat. Just like all hunters, they went straight to the bar. Although, to be fair, the bar was also a grill restaurant and the only other places to eat in town were a McDonalds and some low-quality Chinese place. So, maybe they just wanted to keep their intestines in decent condition.

The bar was small, like everything else in the town and it was Friday, so everyone was crowding in. I chuckled from the roof of the barber shop where I now sat watching the newcomers through the gap of a missing brick that made up the ledge. The four of them hadn't gotten to the bar early enough to get a decent seat, they were gonna be neck deep in beards and Bigfoot stories. I almost felt bad for them and wondered how long they would last before they required air.

That number was 22. After twenty-two minutes of sitting in that bar with absolutely no elbow room, the four probably hunters pushed their way out the door and sat at the bench out front, carrying their food in their hands. This was the first time all day that I had gotten the opportunity to catch a decent look at the four men.

The tallest of the four had long brown hair that reached down to his broad shoulders. About sixty percent of his height was purely legs and his frame, though long and lean, was definitely not scrawny. He had a long-set face framed by dark eyebrows and slim lips with high cheekbones that were sunken and a little bit sallow. His eyes looked weary and tired and they flicked about as if he was on edge.

Now the man sitting on the left of the previous was his opposite in every way. He was tall, but not quite as tall as the first. His brown hair was cut short and spiky all around his head. This man's face was short and his jawline was so sharp it was almost a ninety degree angle. He had thick brows, full lips and eyes so prominent I could see their forest green shade from where I sat across the street. This man was not on edge like the other one was. No, this one was completely and utterly focused on the food in front of him, practically inhaling it as if it might disappear.

The next man, sitting on the left of previous, was vastly different from the other two. He was slightly shorter and dressed much differently. While the other two sat drowning in various layers of plaid, this man wore a rumpled white dress shirt with a messily tied dark blue tie under a long, tan, over-coat. The clothes looked too big for him, bless his soul. His hair was dark brown, nearly black and stuck out in more directions than I'd previously thought possible. Unlike the man before him, his hair didn't seem to be intentionally spiky. It more so looked like he'd simply rolled out of bed that way. As for his face, this man too had a sharp jawline covered in stubble and full lips, complementing his dark brows. There was something about his eyes that was just perplexing. They were large and round and so clear and deep, that they seemed to almost glow a wonderful sapphire shade. I wished I had eyes as pretty as that. Another thing I noticed was that he wasn't eating. The man beside him who was inhaling the food offered some, but he turned it down. So, despite this man's gentle appearance, I had a feeling that there was something about him that I couldn't quite see, and I decided to keep special watch.

The last of the four men, now that I got a decent look at him, was more of a boy than a man. He seemed a fair bit shorter than the other three and much younger. This was pronounced as he was sitting to the right of the tallest man. His face was oval shaped with high cheek bones and a square chin and his medium length nearly blond hair was parted off his face. Set deep under a gentle brow, his eyes were average sized, and their color was a crystal blue like the birthstone aqua. His lips were set as if they didn't quite know how to frown, but despite this fact the boy seemed to be trying anyway. Though his eyes were full of life and his lips were trying to smile, the boy didn't look exactly happy. He looked uncomfortable and nervous; his shoulders hunched in trying to make himself look smaller. For a few minutes I watched the boy eat his food in small bites. Every now and then a shiver would rake his body and he'd try to pull his jacket closer around himself. I felt sorry for him. The poor thing was probably freezing, I knew I was. I rubbed my hands over my arms and shivered a little myself. A look of confusion crossed over the boy’s face and he looked down at his sandwich.

Without warning, the boy's head snapped up and stared directly at me. I stared back through the gap in the brick, frozen. If I moved, then he would most certainly see me if he hadn't already. Our little starring contest continued for what felt like a year until he slowly turned and tugged on the tallest man's sleeve. I ducked out of view of the gap, lying flat on the snow-covered concrete roof.

"That was too close," Isaac said, keeping his eyes trained on the four guys who, I was now completely sure, were hunters. I nodded at him from my position on the roof.

"Have they looked away yet?" I asked my invisible companion.

"Not yet," He answered, his eyes narrowed, "Okay, now you're all clear." Peaking over the edge of the gap, my eyes found the boy again. His brows were furrowed in confusion and he focused on his sandwich, as if it held the answers to whatever questions he was asking.

There was something different about that boy that I just couldn't put a finger on, but desperately wanted to. My curiosity flared and I threw all caution to the wind and began climbing down from the roof.

"What are you doing?!" Isaac hissed as I shimmied down the ladder at the back of the barber shop.

"I just wanna get a closer look," I answered.

"What?! Are you insane?!" He demanded. I dropped from the ladder and onto the ground, thinking about the answer.

"A little bit, yeah." Isaac gaped at me and tugged on his hair.

I shot him a wink and walked across the street to the pharmacy, watching the four hunters out of the corner of my eye. I opened the doors of the pharmacy and walked straight through to the back. Dan, or Mr. De' Santos didn't stop me. Pushing out the back door, I climbed the ladder at the back of the building and pulled myself onto the roof. I strode over to the lip of the roof and looked down at the benched hunters.

"You've lost your mind, Marty!" Isaac fumed, appearing with his arms crossed right next to me.

"I haven't lost it, I'm just not using it right now!" I corrected him.

"Do you have a death wish? Those are hunters! They will kill you!" I smirked at him.

"Only if I die," I said, quoting the God of Thunder. Isaac glared at me and if looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot. I turned my attention back to the four hunters below me. "I'm gonna sneak down there and hide in the alleyway until there're done, then I'm gonna try and talk to em'."

"Yeah, you do that. Have fun dying, Marty," Isaac huffed. I laughed and blew him a kiss before jumping from the roof and landing, quiet as a mouse, in the alley.

Everything would have gone as planed if at that same moment, five young men hadn't come stumbling into the alley, drunk as skunks, and run into me.

~ _How can you miss someone you've never met?_  
 _'Cause I need you now but I don't know you yet_  
 _But can you find me soon because I'm in my head?_  
 _Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet~_

_Lyrics from: IDK You Yet by Alexander 23_


	7. Hello My Old Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... sandwiches...

Chapter Seven: Hello My Old Heart

_~Hello, my old heart_   
_It's been so long_   
_Since I've given you away_   
_And every day, I add another stone_   
_To the walls I built around you_   
_To keep you safe~_

Jack could have sworn he had seen someone on top of the barber shop across the street. He had felt a pair of eyes on him and when he'd looked up, there they were. Watching, staring at him through a missing brick. But he had looked away to call Sam's attention to them and when he'd looked back, the eyes had disappeared. Perhaps he was imagining things. Perhaps this awful dead town was getting to him. Jack didn't know, so he focused back on his sandwich. He could always count on food to make sense.

He had almost finished it when he heard the voices.

"Aw, come on guys, really? You're gonna beat up a kid? What? Is your self-esteem so low that you have to attack a girl just to make yourself feel better?"

The voice belonged to a woman and it drifted out from the alleyway on the left side of the bar. Jack wrapped the last of his sandwich up in its wax paper and laid it on the bench before getting up and walking toward the alley.

"Jack, where ya’ goin'?" Sam called out. Jack turned back and raised a finger to his lips, listening for the woman's voice again.

"Hey, come on guys. Stop. Stop! Hey! I said stop! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" Upon hearing the shouting, Jack rushed into the alley, followed quickly by the Winchesters and Castiel. There were five men in the alley, all focused on the woman they were attacking. Jack couldn't see her as the men were blocking his view. He was about ready to jump in there and help the woman out but was stopped by Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey idiots!" Dean called out. "You know, it's not very nice to jump people." The five men turned around. One of them was holding the woman who had been yelling.

Though now, upon seeing her, Jack realized she wasn't really a 'woman' at all. The girl in front of him couldn't have been older than 15. She was maybe five foot three and quite thin, a little too thin to be healthy. Her large, soul piercing, light grey eyes took up quite a bit of her short, round face. Long eyelashes brushed her cheeks when she blinked, and her eyebrows were thin and dark. She had low set cheek bones and a small slightly pointed chin. Her nose was small and lightly upturned, and her lips were soft and a little pouty looking. Her entire face was a picture of innocence. Jack found her hair particularly interesting. It was jet black at the roots but gradually lightened to gray then to silver and then to white at the ends. It was also extremely long. Her hair flowed down her back in a waterfall of ringlets all the way down to where it ended at her knees.

Jack's gaze met that of the girl's wide beautiful gray eyes. She lifted a brow and her lips parted in silent question. Jack got the feeling there was something peculiar about her, but he didn’t know what it was. They were both drawn back into the moment by more shouting.

"Back off old-man! This ain't any o' your business," The apparent leader said. He was probably the oldest of the group though none of them looked very old.

"Seeing as you just insulted me, I think it is. Besides, I like to think of myself as a decent person, so I'm not gonna let ya’ hurt a kid. So, why don't you boys run along before you get your ass's beat," Dean said. Jack noticed the girl's face twist into a sneer when Dean called her a kid. The disgusted expression looked unnatural being displayed by her innocuous features.

"Why do you care about this hobo-scum? Besides, she's a lot older than she looks." The guy chuckled darkly and glanced at the girl with the strange gray eyes. She twisted her head and scowled at him. The girl didn't look very homeless in Jack's eyes, but the thought of her being so made him deeply sad. Jack believed that everyone deserved a home. Meanwhile, Dean rolled his eyes, he wasn't going to waste time arguing with these drunken losers.

"You've got five seconds to let the girl go," Dean stated.

"Or what?" The lead guy challenged.

"Or you're gonna get a beating you'll never forget." The leader laughed.

"Bring it on, Grandpa!" He jeered. Deans eyes went wide.

"Grandpa?" He asked in disbelief. Then, he cracked his knuckles. "Alright Sammy, you take left, I'll take right. Cas, you and Jack... You guys try not to kill anybody." Upon hearing that last part most of the five men shifted their feet nervously.

Dean went straight for the leader. Roundhouse kicking him straight in the face, Dean let the guy stumble back a bit before punching him swiftly in the face. Twice. When their leader fell to the ground, completely unconscious, the rest of the girl's attackers exchanged nervous glances and started to shift themselves away. From there, all it took was Cas touching one of them on the head, sending him to sleep instantly, and all of the men retreated.

When the one who was holding the girl let go, she whirled around and kneed her captor in the groin. He grunted before stumbling off.

"That's right! You better run, you human farts!" She called after them. Her voice was oddly low for a girl so young and it rang through the crisp winter air, clear as a bell.

"You okay?" Sam asked her. She turned to face him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. These guys just need to learn TO KEEP THEIR DUCKING HANDS TO THEMSELVES!!!" Her tone had begun softly but had grown to a shout at the end. The four hunters were astounded with how loud her voice could get when coming from someone so small. She just grinned at them when she finished yelling.

"Ducking?" Was Dean's only question.

"Yes, ducking," The girl replied, curtly. "Thanks for the help by the way. You're new around here, right? ‘Cause I think I'd remember a couple o' guy's with faces like yours." Dean raised an eyebrow at that last comment.

"Are you flirting?" He asked.

"I don't know, are you?" She replied without missing a beat, mischief gleaming in her eyes. Dean's eyebrows shot up, he had no idea how to respond to that question coming from a child. Sam took over now.

"Yeah, we're just visiting. We're-" the girl cut him off.

"Lookin' for the ghost?" She asked. Sam was taken aback.

"Y-yeah. But how-how did you-how did you know?" He stammered. The girl put her hands on her slim hips.

"A girl my age doesn't survive livin' on her own without bein' clever, and I mean _real_ clever," She said with a smirk. "You boys are hunters aren'ttcha'?"

"Y-yeah. We are." Sam's voice trailed off. The girl simply grinned.

"I can show ya’ to the ghost," She said.

"Thanks, but- if you don't mind me asking, why were you here? I mean, where are your parents?" Sam asked.  
The smile dropped from her youthful face like a stone as she answered the question darkly.

"Six states over, six feet under."

"I'm so sorry," Jack spoke up.

And he was. He knew what that felt like.

She shrugged, turning to him. The look in her eyes spoke to something deeper than sorrow, or loneliness, or even anger. Jack knew that feeling. It was the feeling that you get when everybody says their sorry but it just doesn't mean anything anymore because sorry can't bring a person back from the dead.

"Everyone is." Came her simple reply. Despite knowing exactly how she felt, Jack didn't know how to reply to that. He felt awful that he had no comfort to give her because saying that ' _they're in a better place now'_ or _'I'm sure you'll see them someday'_ would never make it okay again. Jack knew that all the warm wishes in the world couldn't bring back what he'd lost, what she'd lost. No angel magic could heal that sort of pain.

"So, what are you doing here?" Sam quizzed her. The girl let her deep, emotion filled eyes linger on Jack for a moment before she turned back to Sam.

"Currently? I'm dying of hypothermia," She answered.

"Hop in the car," Dean offered, waving his keys, "We'll take you somewhere you can get warm."

The girl chuckled, her laugh reminded Jack of wind-chimes.

"One, you don't wanna _know_ how shady that offer sounded. And two, if I go to a shelter, they'll put me into the foster system to be tossed around until I'm eighteen. Then they'll dump me right back here. No thanks! I'll take the hypothermia!" The girl joked. She chuckled again, darkly this time. "Besides, I'd hate for any of those foster parents to wake up dead."

"What do you mean?" Castiel narrowed his eyes as he jumped into the conversation.

"Why do you think I'm on my own, Angel-Face?" She asked him. Jack quietly wondered if she knew what he and Castiel were. There was no way she would be able to tell, right?

"Why are you on your own?" Sam inquired. The girl huffed.

"Because vampires slaughtered my family, I escaped, call it a miracle. You guy's saved my life, that means I owe you. I don't like owing people. If you're looking for the town ghost, I'll show you some bones to burn. Okay? Okay." The girl started walking forward but Dean stopped her.

"How did you escape?" He narrowed his eyes and stared at her as if that could grill the answer out of her.

"I could’ve sworn I told you to call it a miracle. I'm not saying anything more about it. You wanna know more? Take me to dinner first. Now do ya’ want me to show you to the ghost or not?" For someone so young, her eyes and tone were made of steel. It was clear that she wanted to get off this topic as fast as possible.

"How are we supposed to trust you, kid? We don't even know your name," Dean pointed out. The girl rolled her eyes.

"My name is Martina," She stated. "There, now you know it. Happy?"

Jack perked up.

"Hey! I have a friend named Martina!" He said, brightly. The girl turned to him.

"Really? Hold on. What's your name?" She asked him, smiling a little.

"I'm Jack," He said.

"No way." The girl grinned and whipped out her phone, typing something quickly.

**Plip! Ploop!**

Jack's phone rang in his back pocket. He pulled it out and displayed on the screen was a text from Marty. They both looked up.

"Well, heya, Jack."

*******

"Well, heya, Jack." I said, a little bewildered.

"Hi Marty!" The kid, who was apparently Jack, said brightly. Then he reached out and approached me for a hug. I stepped away quickly. That was _not_ happening. No sir.

"Jack, what are you doing?" I asked as I ducked another hug attempt. Jack looked very confused.

"Trying to hug you," He replied.

"Yeah, uh, sorry but I really don't hug people I've just met in person for the first time."

That wasn't the real reason why I couldn't hug him, because the universe knows I wanted to. The kid was way cute, and my life moto has always been _'never turn down a hug from a cute guy, unless he's being creepy_ '. But I was hungry, and a hug was a great way to lose it in front of a bunch of hunters and end up decapitated. Decapitation was not something I wanted to experience first-hand. I was surprised, however, when Jack didn't miss a beat.

"Okay! Handshake then." He offered me his hand and I took it.

"Holy Moses!" I exclaimed. "Your hands are warm!"

Jack chuckled and I looked him in the face.

"I'm not letting go now," I proclaimed as I grasped his hand with both of mine and relished in the warmth.

"Okay!" Jack shrugged, grinning.

"Alright, as long as we're doing introductions, I'm Dean," The tall guy with the spiky brown hair said. He gestured to the tallest one. "This is my brother, Sam." The walking mountain of flannel waved at me. "And the bundle of sunshine in a trench-coat is Cas." The dark-haired man in the tan coat nodded to me, I nodded back.

"It’s nice to meet y’all. And Dean?" I addressed.

"What?"

I gestured to man he'd called 'Cas'.

"That's not a trench-coat. It's an over-coat. Learn the difference." I pointed out.

Cas side-eyed Dean with an almost unnoticeable expression of _'I told you so'_ written on his face. Dean just rolled his eyes and Cas turned back to me.

"My name is Castiel, and I'm an angel." He introduced himself to me and I guessed I'd made it to his good side because, from the impression I'd gotten of him, he didn't seem like a big talker. I figured he let the man named Dean do most of the talking for him.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Castiel." I said, nodding my head to him. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You don't even look surprised," Dean noted, his eyes narrowing. I simply shrugged.

"I've always believed in angels. Even if the one on my shoulder skipped out a while ago." I turned my head to smile at Castiel. I hoped he would understand what I was saying and not get offended. "It's just nice to meet a dedicated one."

As the words left my mouth, I tried to stop what I dreaded from happening, but I couldn't. I felt Castiel's mind softening and opening and I felt my voice penetrating on a subconscious level, whispering all the words I couldn't say, to his soul which was quietly listening. I was Sweet-Talking him, just as I'd vowed not to. I felt the familiar rush of power that I wished I'd never known, as it sparked and swelled inside of me. Using my years of practice, I shut it down. Pretending to catch it all in a big imaginary box, I then sealed it and pictured myself sitting on the lid. The power struggled to get free, but I pushed back harder and kept the box sealed inside my head. I felt the power recede and Castiel's mind close up again. I couldn't repair whatever damage I knew I'd done in my brief lapse of control. But I did know that Castiel was completely unaware of what had happened.

Castiel extended his hand for me to shake and I took it with one of mine, keeping my other hand in Jack's. Castiel's hand, like his younger companion’s, was also very warm. I grasped it tightly.

"Ha! Now, I've tricked you both into falling into my trap!" I declared dramatically. Castiel looked at me in confusion. I intertwined my fingers with his and lifted our clasped hands into view, addressing both him and Jack. "I'm sorry, you two. You guys just aren't getting these back until I can feel my fingers again." Jack laughed and Castiel only shrugged. I just grinned, it had been about 8 weeks since my fingers had gone completely numb.

"You said you knew where the ghost's bones are, right? Can you tell us where to find them?" The sasquatch with pants was talking again and I lifted my head to look at him.

"I can't tell you, but I can show you," I offered, "And I can give ya’ a little history lesson along the way!"

"Then let's get movin'," Dean swung his keys around his finger and lead the way to the black 67' Chevy Impala.

"67' Chev!" I remarked. Still clinging to Jack and Cas's hands. "Nice!"

Dean turned to me.

"You know cars?" He asked, seemingly impressed. I shook my head.

"No, but my little brother did. This was one of his favorites."

This seemed to peak Jack's interest.

"You have a brother?" He opened his mouth to ask another question, but I beat him to the punch.

"Lemmie guess, you're gonna ask where he is? Well, don't bother. I've got your answer, Jack. He's laying right beside my parents." I tried to sound gentle, but it just ended up sounding mildly annoyed. But Jack didn't seem to get upset, he just nodded.

When we reached the car, the brothers got in the front. (How those two were related I wasn't quite sure as they looked absolutely nothing alike.) I looked down at my hands, intertwined with both Cas's and Jack's. I'd have to let go of them to get in the car, but I couldn't feel my fingers just yet. I looked to the boy on my left and the angel on my right, keeping my expression completely serious, I gestured to our intertwined hands.

"If I let go of these to get in the car, do I have your guys’ solemn word I'll get em' back?" I asked, glancing left and right between them.

"Sure!" Jack promised. Cas simply nodded.

"Okay. Now break!" I let go of their hands and threw open the door of the Impala. Swinging my knee-length hair over my shoulder, I gathered it up and slid into the Impala so as not to sit on any of it. Jack slid in beside me on my left and Castiel crossed to the other side and opened the door before sitting on my right. When they both closed their respective doors, I held out both hands.

"Give," I demanded. They both quickly complied. Dean turned on the heater and was kind enough to point the front vents directly at my face, I sighed. "Oh, Hallelujah."

Jack chuckled.

"Are you very cold?" He asked me. I snorted at his presumption.

"Dude, I am so far past cold it's not even funny! If you guys got here any later, I think I'd have been a human-popsicle!" I exclaimed. Jack's eyes widened and he looked a little scared. I think he may have taken my statement literally. I was going to explain it to him, but I was quickly distracted. "Oh my gosh guys, I think I just discovered something!"

"What?" Dean asked from up front.

"I have a nose!" My discovery had most of the car laughing.

As we pulled away from the bar's parking lot, I caught a glimpse of a spectral figure in the car's rear-view mirror. I turned around in my seat. Standing on the sidewalk under the light of a streetlamp stood Isaac with his arms crossed. His corpse-like countenance augmented by the old lamp's yellowed glow. The expression on his face was, for the first time that I had ever seen, truly menacing as he bore into me with his face cold and dead and his eyes like a raging wildfire. His withering stare was louring and harsh as he shook his head at me slowly. ' ** _No_** ' he mouthed. The laughter died in my throat and Isaac's ghastly silhouette disappeared into the night air.

"Is something wrong?" I heard Jack ask me. I looked back to him and forced a smile.

"No, I'm fine. I just thought I saw something."

~ _Oh, don't leave me here alone_  
 _Don't tell me that we've grown_  
 _For having loved a little while_  
 _Oh, I don't wanna be alone_  
 _I wanna find a home_  
 _And I wanna share it with you~_

_Lyrics from: Hello My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos_


	8. I'm Trying My Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter kinda sucks... Sorry I was WAY tired.

Chapter Eight: I’m Trying My Best

_~I hope you know it’s not always happy in my head_  
 _'Cause I don't know_  
 _The perfect road to go down_  
 _But I know_  
 _I'm trying my best_ ~

"So where is it that you're taking us?" Dean asked as we drove away from the bar.

"I dunno," I replied, "Call it a meadow, call it a trail, call it whatever you want, but that's where they buried him."

"Wait, buried who?" Sam asked me.

"Arshad Berta, at least, I think that was his name." I had gone through the towns archives and found the man's name. He had lived and died in Copper Harbor but nothing more was known about him. So it was up to me to come up with his story.

"Who was he? How'd he die?" Sam questioned. I chuckled.

"Y'all ready fer a ghost story?" I asked in my best southern accent. "Oh, uh, turn here."

I gestured to a old back road that forked off the main one. You wouldn't have been able to see it unless you knew what you were looking for, which thankfully I did.

"Here?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, right here!"

Dean had to turn sharply not to miss it and when the tires hit the new road, which was really more of a path than anything, the whole car jerked with the uneven-ness.

"Yeah, we're gonna stay on this road for, like, forever because it is a _long_ road. So, as I was saying-"

Sam cut me off.

"Sorry, but how do you know any of this?" He inquired. "We talked to almost everyone in town and nobody said they knew anything. So, how do you?"

I huffed a laugh and sent Sam a wry smile.

"Because I took the time to look for all the things nobody wanted me to see," I replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean scoffed. I rolled my eyes.

"Can I just get on with my story?"

"Be my guest, but if you start with 'twas a dark and stormy night' I'm gonna slap you," Dean warned. I cleared my throat and began in my bad southern accent.

"The night when Arshad Berta died, was _not_ a dark one. Nor was it stormy. In fact, it wasn't even night at all. Arshad was murdered in broad daylight, right in front of almost 30 people. The year was nineteen-fifty-two and the month was June. As for the day, there's nobody left alive who remembers.

"Now, Arshad was a young man with his whole life ahead of him, and he was working on the ferry to get enough money to buy himself a home. But Arshad had just two problems, he was a black, and he was gay. The towns people didn't like that last bit. Arshad had never done anything to prove his sexuality, but a rumor was enough for the town to hate him. So, he was given the most dangerous job on the boat. Arshad was in charge of making sure that no debris got caught in-between the gears that spin the wheel and the wheel itself.

"Arshad had his whole life ahead of him, but one day the town's people decided that he didn't deserve to live it.

"A couple men ganged up and threw Arshad into the gap between the gear and the wheel, just before the ferry left the dock. He was found, torn to shreds, by some slightly kinder town's folk and by some miracle, the boy was still breathing. So, they brought him to the hospital where the doctors together took one look at the face, they all knew well. They looked into Arshad's pleading dying eyes and to the world proclaimed him dead.

"And thus, Arshad was murdered. In broad daylight. In a room of 30 witnesses no more innocent than the culprits themselves." I finished dramatically. The car was silent. I waited. Nothing. "Uh, The End? Come on, you guys are supposed to clap or something!" Jack turned and grinned at me.

"I thought it was an awesome story! Well, the subject itself is horrible. But you're a really good story-teller!" He said. I smiled at him.

"Well, I'm glad at least somebody thinks so." I leaned forward, sticking my head into the front seat. "Ya hear that guys? Jack here appreciates me!"

"Eh, the story was okay. I've heard better. You did a good job telling it though," Dean critiqued. I rolled my eyes and sat back in my seat.

"Hey, its much easier to make it good when you're making the whole darn thing up! I got all that from a census and 4 lines in some old dude's journal about some racist, homophobic crap his dad had said on his death bed. It's not like I had much to work with, " I exclaimed.

"Well in that case it was very good. I agree with Jack, you are quite the story-teller, Martina." Castiel said. I smiled and sat up a little straighter, trying my best to act like the exited fourteen-year-old I was supposed to be.

"Thanks Cas, I used to write a lot of short stories. Though, now, I'm pretty out of practice. Also, I'd like it better if you guys called me, Marty." I was trying to sound chipper, but my words didn't come out that way.

"I understand why Arshad would attack the hospital, but why the mini-mart? And what was with the thief in the video?" Sam blurted out. I blinked, caught off guard by his off-topic question.

"I think it was ‘cause he was homeless so he didn't want anybody else to suffer like he did. As for the thief, nobody knows who that is, but they must know the ghost because they distribute all the stuff they steal around. That's how I got this jacket!" I explained. Sam seemed to think about that for a moment.

"I guess that makes sense. It's not the weirdest thing I've heard," He said shrugging. Sam turned around in his seat. "Thanks Marty, for helping us out."

"No problemo!" I replied.

Inwardly, I sighed with relief, I had only narrowly dodged that figurative bullet. If I hadn't, I probably would have ended up dodging a very literal axe. I couldn't forget that these guys wanted to kill me for what I was.

"Okay, can I just ask, of all the nicknames out there, why did you pick Marty?" Dean asked, pulling me from my thoughts. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"Because I like it," I answered simply. I didn't want to say the real reason. Not if I could avoid it.

"Alright, but if your name is Martina, why not go with, I dunno, Tina?" It was Sam's turn to ask the question.

"Come on, Sam. Do I really look like a Tina to you?" I asked. I immediately regretted asking because I already knew the answer. Dean snickered.

"I dunno, you look pretty _Tiny_ to me." He joked, pronouncing the word as 'teeny'. I frowned, arching my eyebrow at him.

"Oh, sure. Make all the height jokes ya’ want. You're not even that tall," I said. Dean scoffed.

"What are you talking about? I am totally tall."

I shook my head.

"Think whattcha' want but I once had a coach in elementary school who was six foot nine. He wore a size eighteen shoe," I said keeping my voice matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, whatever," He said, but I heard him mutter ' _geez_ ' under his breath. I smirked triumphantly. Jack turned his head to me.

"Did your family call you Tina?" He asked. The question shocked me, and I didn't know how to respond.

"Yeah," I said simply, "Yeah, they did." I struggled to blink away the tears I didn't want them to see.

"Oh." Said Jack, "I'm sorry. Did I make you sad?"

I laughed and shook my head. For a hunter, this Jack guy was a sweet soul.

"No. I mean, yeah. You did. It's just not your fault." I struggled to get my words out. "I just, I really miss em' is all. I-I'm trying my best."

"I see." Was all Jack said. I felt his eyes on me for the next few minutes as they passed by in silence. It was Sam who spoke up.

"Say, Marty, one of the men who attacked you, he said something about you being older than you looked. Do you know what he meant by that?" He asked, thoughtfully. I had hoped that none of them would notice that. Maybe I should give humans just a little bit more credit. I had spent five years in the town, and I was truly surprised that someone had noticed my lack of ageing.

"How should I know? They were drunk!" I lied. Though it wasn't exactly a lie the way I phrased it. The angel sitting on my right sent me a strange glance that I ignored. In the front seat, Sam nodded.

The car came rolling to a stop in the middle of the snowy, dead, woods. The path had ended.

"This is the end of the road, kid. I think ya’ got us lost," Dean accused turning around in his seat to face me.

"I didn't get you lost, Dean. This is just as far as we can go in the car. The rest of the way, we travel on foot! Everybody out!" I got a distrustful look from Dean and Cas, but they did as they were told.

"May I have my hand back now?" Cas asked me.

"Oh, yeah. Sure!" I replied. The angel opened the door and stepped out. I got out after Jack, still clinging to his hand. He didn't complain.

"You might want a shovel," I noted. Sam and Dean opened the trunk and pulled out two shovels, some gasoline, a bag full of salt, and a match book. They then closed the trunk and nodded at me.

"Ready? Onward!"

I led the tiny troop into the thick woods along a path that was hardly even there. It was dark in the woods and judging by the light shining behind me, the boys had brought flashlights. Jack didn't seem to need any light because every time I was about to trip on something, he would say ‘ _watch out, Marty_ ’ and guide me away from it. Of course, I could see just fine in the dark. The stumbling was just for show. The woods parted into a small clearing about the size of two or three cars. During the summer it was blanketed in tall grass but now the grass was dead and all that was left were a few dry reeds sticking out of the snow. In the middle of the clearing there was a raised mound about six feet long and two feet wide. I gestured to it.

"One dead dude. As promised. Start diggin'," I said to the hunters. I let go of Jack's hand and turned to make my great escape.

"Hold on." Dean's voice called out. I turned back slowly on my heel.

"Yeah?"

"Why should we believe a word that's come out of your mouth?" He asked.

Crap. He was putting two and two together. I could see it in his eyes.

"Dean-" Sam tried to say something but Dean held up his hand to silence him.

"We save you from some jerks and you just happen to know we're hunters, you're not even somewhat surprised when Cas says he's an angel, you just happen to know everything about this ghost and exactly where he's buried when not even the locals knew a damn thing, nobody in the town knows who you are, and you say you escaped the vampires who slaughtered your family but you won't even tell us how! I think all that lines up a little too good, don't you think?" Dean pointed a finger at me accusingly. I narrowed my eyes.

"What are you suggesting, Dean?" I asked. Narrowing my eyes a little I spread my hands in question.

"I'm saying I think you're a dirty blood sucker trying to throw us off your trail! Give me a single good reason why I shouldn't chop your head off this instant!" He growled, taking a threatening step forward. I had only one defense now, Isaac had been right. I had to use it.

For the first time in five years, I willingly reached out with my power, willing it to convince the blood-thirsty hunter of my innocence. I opened his mind and reached my mental fingers in to twist his thoughts and his perception. I was a monster to be hunted and I knew that all too well, but I wasn't going to let him kill me. I reminded his subconscious of the son he had left behind. I could see his son, Ben was his name, I could see him in Dean's thoughts. Dean had left him and he regretted it every day.

"You're right this does sorta line up too good. But just because it's good doesn't mean it can't be real. Please don't hurt me Dean, if you kill me now, you'll regret it forever."

My words were working, just not quite enough. I needed to say more. I reached deeper into his mind, touching on memories of his mother and his brother, Sam.

"When the ghost video went viral, I learned everything I could about it. I was watching for you because I hoped you could help me. I hoped you could protect me. He killed my family, Dean! He killed them all! Now, he wants me too. Please Dean, I'm not ready to die just yet."

I was veering so far from my plan; I couldn't even see it anymore. Now, I guessed, I would just have to go with the flow. I could almost see Isaac screaming at me to stop being so stupid. I wondered briefly where he was.

I watched Dean nod and relax his aggressive stance. As soon as he did, I shoved all that power back into its mental box. I promised myself that was the last time I was going to use it.

"So was the ghost a fake or do we still have to gank it?" The now calm Dean Winchester asked. I had learned his last name from our brief mind-meld. I gestured to the mound again.

"Oh no, that crap's all real. Dig away, my friend," I declared. Then, I climbed my way high into the dead branches of a tree and sat up there as I watched the two brothers begin to dig. Without warning, Isaac appeared beside me. The same dark glower from earlier still etched on his pale face.

"I hope you're happy. Whatever happens now, it's on you," Isaac spat.

Then he vanished into thin air before I could say a word.

~ _I know you think I got it all figured out_  
 _'Cause I walk around like my head's in the clouds_  
 _But I'm just a girl with her heart pouring out of her head_  
 _I wish that you could see the pain that I've seen_  
 _And all of the times I spent being not me_

_I hope you know that it's not always happy in my head_   
_'Cause I don't know_   
_The perfect road to go down_   
_But I know_

_I'm trying my best_   
_I'm trying my best to be okay_   
_I'm trying my best but every day it's so hard~_

Lyrics from: I'm Trying My Best by Anson Seabra


	9. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awwwwww! I hope this makes yall smile.

Chapter Nine: Getting to Know You

_~Getting to know you_   
_Getting to know all about you_   
_Getting to like you_   
_Getting to hope you like me~_

Jack had been severely worried for the safety of his new friend. They had just barely met before Dean was contemplating the removal of her head. Jack did not want Dean to decapitate his new friend, she had seemed very nice.

Thankfully, Marty had managed to talk her way out of an unscheduled cranium removal. Now, she was sitting on a thick branch on one of the dead trees, swinging her legs and watching the Winchesters dig for a buried corpse. Jack held onto one of their flashlights, but for once he didn't want to be helping the brothers. Jack wanted to talk to Marty. He looked up from the hole the two were making to see Marty watching him intently. He wished he could speak with her now and get to know her when the Winchester's weren't listening. Castiel noticed the object of Jack's focus and reached to take the flashlight in his hands.

"Go ahead Jack, go be kind." Cas encouraged the young Nephilim. Cas had read somewhere that human children required interactions with friends close to their own age. He hoped that this Marty girl would be close enough. Jack smiled at the angel and handed over his flashlight.

He waved at Marty, who waved back, before making his way over to the tree she sat in. Jack looked up and wondered how she had made it so high in the tree as there were very few low hanging branches that were thick enough to support her weight. He came to the conclusion that Marty must have been very agile. She peered down at him from her position high in the branches and smirked.

"Need me to help you up, Jack?" She called down to him. Jack smiled up at her. Originally, he had planned to climb to her position, but he decided to save himself the effort and fly instead. He appeared right next to her on her branch.

Surprised by his sudden materialization beside her, Marty shrieked and nearly fell from her perch in the tree.

"Holy, bananas! What was that!?" She gasped when she had regained her balance. Jack grinned.

"My wings." He informed her. Marty's face morphed into a question.

"Your what?"

"My wings," Jack repeated. Marty seemed skeptical.

"You have wings?" She asked. Jack nodded.

"Where? I don't see them."

"I don't think humans can. Castiel told me your senses are too dull, or maybe your brain just won't let you. You can feel them though," Jack explained.

He wrapped one of his wings around Marty's shoulders. Marty's eyes flew wide and she gasped, turning her head in an attempt to see what was invisible to her eyes.

"Well, there's something you don't see every day," She remarked, unable to hide her amazement. "Can I?" Marty reached her hand out.

Jack smiled and nodded, shifting so she could touch what she couldn't see. He watched the smile grow on her face. It was different from the other ones she had worn that day, the ones that split her cheeks but left her eyes empty. This one had life.

It was that spark of light in her eyes, that spark of wonder, that enamored Jack. Not only was it the first glimpse of life he had seen in this horrible, dead, place. It was the first glimpse of life he'd seen in her. The spark that now lingered in her eyes pointed out what Jack had failed to see before.

Her eyes, though intriguing on the surface, looked as though they were missing something. There was this look in them.

No.

Not in them, but behind them. That look behind her eyes, it was hopelessness. Marty's eyes seemed blank and numb to anything more than the current moment. Those eyes didn't look like they belonged to a child. In fact, the look in her eyes reminded Jack of the look he saw in the eyes of Dean when he'd first met him. It was that look Dean had when he'd run all out of hope, but he was trying to hide it. Jack hated seeing that look in Dean's eyes and he hated seeing it just as much in Marty's.

A whisper of wonder pulled Jack from his small revelation.

"Wow."

Marty let go of Jack's wing. turning to him, she stared at his face intently, as if trying to solve a complicated math problem. This made Jack very uncomfortable.

"Um, what are you doing?" He asked. Marty kept staring.

"I'm trying to figure out whether you're my hallucination or not... Are you?" Her words came slow and soft.

"What are you talking about?" The girls odd behavior confused Jack. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

"Some people say, that when you get hypothermia, your brain takes you somewhere else, somewhere beautiful. So your last moments will be pleasant, so you can die in peace. You hallucinate that maybe you're not alone, maybe there's somebody who's gonna save you. There's a hero in your fever dream. Are you mine?" Marty clarified. Jack had no response for that.

"I don't _think_ so. Do you think you're dying?" That spark of life Jack had seen in Marty's eyes went out. Though she turned her head away and laughed, her small chuckle sounded more like a sob.

"You know, I-I really wouldn't be surprised if I was." Marty raised her face to the sky and a small smile spread over her features. It was a serene smile. Not happy, not sad. Just peaceful. Her voice became very quiet. "I mean, if I had to go, this wouldn't be such a bad place to do it."

"What do you mean by that?" Jack asked. His question seemed to knock Martina from her reverie. She glanced back at him, tucking a few strands of hair back behind her ear.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Sitting in a tree next to some weird, sorta cute guy with invisible wings, waiting for his two friends to finish digging up some dead dude while an angel in a not-trench-coat holds the flashlight. That's definitely how I wanna die!" She laughed at her own bad joke for a moment with that wind-chime laugh of hers before looking back up at the stars. Jack figured that she didn't plan on sharing whatever it was she had meant.

"You seem to like the stars."

It sounded more like a statement then the question Jack had meant it to be.

"Oh, I more than like them, Jack. _I **love** them. _Bright orbs of fire and gas suspended in space. They're beautiful. But do you know what the best thing about em' is?" Jack shook his head.

"What?" Marty looked back at Jack and smiled. The spark was back.

"The stars don't give a crap about who I am," She said. Jack was quite puzzled by this and she could read that much on his face.

"Yeah, I know, a lot of people say that they want their names written in the stars or some bull crap like that, but the stars don't care about them. They don't have to. They aren't bound to earth like the rest of us. They can just exist in the cosmos utterly unbound to anything and everything. Doesn't that sound wonderful?" She mused. Jack didn't agree with her on that but he didn't voice his opinion he just nodded. Marty grabbed his arm and pointed upward into oblivion. "See Jack, when I die, that's where I'm going. I'm gonna be a star."

"I don't think that's how that works..."

"Aw, shut up ya’ kill joy." Marty smirked at him, shoving his arm playfully. "Okay, my turn!"

"I'm sorry?"

"We should play 20 questions."

Jack was beginning to think this Marty person was crazy with the way she jumped from one subject to another.

"I don't know that game," Jack stated.

"Well, basically you would ask me a question and I _have_ to answer it, no matter what. Then you have to answer the same question, so I know your answer. Then I ask you a question that you have to answer and then I say what I think, and it goes back and forth. Since you already asked one, it's my turn," She explained.

"Um, okay." Jack nodded, just slightly nervous. Marty unnerved him in a way that made him both curious and hesitant.

"Alright, if you're not a hallucination, and you're not a human, then what are you? You have wings, are you an angel?" She asked.

"No. I'm not an angel. I'm a Nephilim."

"What the frick is a Nephilim?"

"It's like an angel but also not. I'm also human sort of, I think. My mother, she was human too." Jacks brows pushed together as he tried to come up with an explanation.

"So, a half-angel?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good enough for me! You don't seem like an angel though." Martina remarked.

"What do you mean?"

She laughed.

"Well, it's just Cas. He's just so, you know-" Marty's face blanked out and she slowly squinted at him. Jack guessed she was doing her best impression of Castiel. It made him chuckle as it was actually pretty close. "-like that. And well, you're not." She finished.

"Is that a good thing?"

Marty just sat there and smiled for a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it’s a good thing." She just grinned at him and Jack grinned back. But their moment didn't last.

"JACK AND MARTY SITTING IN A TREE. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Dean called from down below. As soon as Dean had finished the rhyme, Sam raised his shovel and smacked his brother on the rear with it.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Leave them alone, Dean! Geez!" Sam chastened his brother. He sent Jack and Marty a thumbs up. "YOU GUYS ARE FINE! JUST IGNORE HIM!" He shouted up to them.

Jack felt that he now understood what Marty had meant by this being a good place to die. He hadn't been thinking anything close to what Dean had suggested but now the image wouldn't leave his head.

Marty however had drastically different feelings on the matter. Her laughter began with her small wind-chime chuckle but ended in a full out guffaw. In fact, Marty laughed so hard that she fell out of the tree. She attempted to catch herself, but it was too late.

"Frackles."

And she fell.

Jack wasn't fast enough to catch her.

An earsplitting crack echoed out as she hit the ground and Jack was at her side in an instant.

"Marty?! Are you okay?!" He cried. He just prayed that she wasn't dead. The girl on the ground was silent. "Marty?" Then she groaned and rolled her body over.

"We're good! Nobody panic! I'm Fine!" She gave a thumbs up and tried to prop herself up but her arm bent at a grotesque angle and she fell back on the ground. Marty looked at it with a rather detached expression. "On second thought, maybe not so fine!"

"I'm just glad you're not dead!" Jack grinned, relived. Marty held up her injured arm.

"Yeah, well this is gonna be a problem." Sam and Dean had run to get to where she had fallen and only just arrived.

"Geez Marty! It was a joke!" Dean exclaimed, a little worried.

"And it was funny!" Marty waved her disgustingly disfigured appendage at him. "Can't you tell?"

"How are you not screaming?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"This is gonna sound super weird, but it really doesn't hurt that much," She shrugged. Castiel knelt beside her.

"Your arm is broken," He diagnosed.

"Ooh, what tipped you off? Could it be the fact that my arm is folding in places that it shouldn't be folding?" Marty asked sarcastically. Castiel just rolled his eyes.

"I can fix it."

"Fix away my friend!" There was a bright flash of light and Marty's arm was back in its original state. She flexed her fingers. "Nice." Was all she had to say.

The brothers and their angel went back to their grave desecration while Jack and Marty went back to their tree. This time sitting on a much lower branch. They were silent for a while like new friends often are, but Jack felt the need to apologize.

"Marty?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry about Dean." Marty simply laughed, though this time she was more careful.

"Dude, that wasn't his fault! It’s not like he pushed me outta the tree," She remarked, elbowing Jack playfully.

"No, no! I was talking about when he wanted to chop off your head." Jack mimed a head-chopping motion.

"Oh, that." Marty nodded and Jack could detect a hint of fear in her voice. "Well, I still have my head. So, it's all good."

"What about those things you said, about needing protection?"

"Oh, you know. I didn't mean any of it." Marty tried to laugh it off. Jack could tell that the laugh was a lie.

"But you did," Jack said softly.

Marty looked stunned. Stunned that Jack had figured out her little charade. Stunned that he had recognized the lie she hadn't been aware she was telling. Her large vulnerable eyes widened a bit and she looked away.

"We all need a little protection now, don't we?" Her voice was quiet, and her smile was sad.

"We could help you! Protect you, I mean," Jack tried, "It’s what we- it's what they do! They protect people." His tiny change in wording didn't go unnoticed by Marty but she made no comment.

"You don't want me around. Believe me." She said it as if it was supposed to be a joke, but the sadness in her tone shown through.

"Why not?" Marty chuckled.

"Because I've got a vampire hunting my rear-end! When one of those things catches your scent there's no getting away. That's why I came up here, it’s about as remote as remote gets." Jack nodded. This place was the middle of nowhere.

"Sam and Dean have delt with things a lot worse than any vampire! They once saved me from another dimension!" Jack told her excitedly, "And Castiel can even kill one of those things with a touch! So you don't have to worry." Jack wasn't sure if it was his imagination when he watched Marty flinch.

"He can do that?" She asked, something between fear and admiration lining her voice. Jack nodded, enthusiastically.

"You could come stay with us and we could protect you!" He offered. Marty's laugh was wistful as she ducked and shook her head.

"That sounds... nice. But-" she cut herself of with a sigh.

"But what?" Jack pushed, gently. His curiosity was eating at him. Marty sucked in a breath and glanced at Jack through the veil of her hair.

"Say I was to take you up on your offer, why?" She asked. Jack blinked, confusion coloring his features.

"I'm sorry, I-I don't, I-"

Marty's head snapped up to look at him, her hair falling into her eyes. She cut him off,

"Why? Why did you offer? What-what's in it for you? Why do you even care? I mean, you hardly know me. I'm nothing to you, I'm nothing at all. Why would you want to help _me?"_

Her flood of questions overwhelmed Jack and he sat there for a moment and pondered the answer. His brows furrowed with concentration and conviction, forming carefully the words he wanted to say. He reached out and pushed the curtain of hair from the girl's timid, pretty face and tucked it behind her ear. Marty's eyes flicked over his face intently, and desperately searching for any signs as to the origin of his kindness.

"Because I―" he started, his brows pushed together further, and he tilted his head. "―Because you're my friend and I want to help you. Also, because I don't like you being here all alone. You shouldn't have to be alone." Jack nodded seriously as he finished. Marty's eyes grew wide and doe-like. Jack could see the tears glistening in them. It was a warm glistening in her eyes, it wasn't cold like the snow, it was warm. Marty shook her head slowly, as if trying to wake from a dream.

"I-I-I don't, I-I'm not, I-" She looked away, blinking the tears from her beautiful grey eyes. She sniffed and when she looked back up the sparkling tears were rolling down her soft, pale cheeks. "I-I don't know what to say," She laughed a little at herself and wiped at her tears, "Thank you, Jack. Thank you for being so kind to me." Her voice came only as a whisper. Jack smiled brightly.

"That's what friends do! They help each other!" He spoke.

"Well, you're a pretty awesome friend then, Jack." She nodded. Then she laughed at herself and wiped at her cheeks again. "Aw man. I don't know why I'm crying!"

"Sam and Dean say that human's sometimes cry when they're very happy. Are you very happy?" Jack asked. Marty just stared at him for a moment.

"Yeah." She nodded and sniffed. "Yeah Jack, I think I'm pretty happy."

"So you'll come with us?" Jack asked, hope filling his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll come with you." She paused. "But what about Sam and Dean? Do they mind?" Jack hadn't thought about that.

"I don't know, um, let me see."

Jack disappeared and re-materialized next to the brothers. Marty watched from the tree as words were exchanged. Dean and Sam glanced at her once or twice before the conversation seemed to end and Jack returned to her side.

"They said yes!" He exclaimed.

Marty blinked in shock. For a moment she didn't move, she just sat there and stared.

"Uh, Marty? Are you alrig―"

Jack's question was cut off by a pair of arms flinging themselves around him. Marty buried her face in Jacks shoulder and squeezed him tightly.

"Thank you, Jack! Thank you **_so much! Thank you so frickin' much!"_** Jack wasn't entirely sure how to react to this, so he simply hugged the small girl back, albeit awkwardly, and waited for her to let go. After a few moments and a few deep breaths, Marty let go and scooted away a little bit.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that," She nervously chuckled.

"It's fine!" Jack replied, "So, back to questions, how old are you?" Marty grinned.

"Oh, we're doing this again?"

Jack simply grinned and nodded.

"I'm fourteen. You?" She asked.

"I'm almost two!"

Marty blinked and nodded slowly. She seemed more concerned than shocked by this answer.

"Two huh? How does that work?"

"Things were really dangerous so I had to grow up fast," Jack answered. Marty nodded.

"Interesting. Alright, well then it's my turn, what's your favorite color?" Jack had to think about this.

"I don't know. I like all of them, I guess. What's yours?"

"I love turquoise, which is a weird word because it has five vowels but only two syllables. Green is a close second, but I like purple too. I absolutely hate red though. Oh, and brown. I hate brown," Marty shook her head and giggled, "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"I like hearing you talk," Jack said and Marty smiled.

The light was back in her eyes, brighter this time. She seemed happier now, somehow lighter than before. Her smile reached her eyes. It was not a lie. It was beautiful.

Jack made a silent, solemn oath to keep it that way.

_~Getting to know you_   
_Getting to feel free and easy_   
_When I am with you_   
_Getting to know what to say_

_Haven't you noticed_   
_Suddenly I'm bright and breezy?_   
_Because of all the beautiful and new_   
_Things I'm learning about you_   
_Day by day~_

_Lyrics from: Getting to Know You by Julie Andrews_


	10. Hey Alice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it wrong that I almost enjoy inflicting pain on my OC's?

Chapter Ten: Hey Alice

_~Hey Alice, is it greener here_   
_Or does it seem like dirt?_   
_Does it feel the same, can you say that you_   
_Are happy to be home?_

_The rabbit seems to call your name_   
_You're late, so it's time to move_   
_Oh Alice, you know it's your fate_   
_Tick, tock. No time to lose_

_Hey Alice, time is running short_   
_This can't take too long_   
_Make a choice now._   
_On which side of the door_   
_Do you feel you belong?~_

Did I know it was a bad idea?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Did I do it anyway?

Yup.

Was I going to regret it?

Yeah, probably.

Did that thought stop me?

Absolutely not.

I was going with Jack. I was going to leave that freezing nothing-in-nowhere place behind me and I was going to be free. With the Winchesters protecting me, I would never have to be afraid of anything ever again.

At least until they found out the truth. But I could keep them fooled for long enough, right? I mean, Jack seemed to like me. I wasn't sure in what _way_ exactly, but he did seem to like me. That was something wasn't it? It had to be.

Me and Jack just sat and talked while Sam and Dean burned the bones and covered the body back up. The only reason I knew the body was there was because I had found this place three years ago, though as to the corpse's identity I had no clue. I was just making crap up.

When the job was finally done it was around midnight and the hunters wanted to go back to their motel. They also wanted me to come with them.

"But where would you sleep?" I argued.

"Oh, I don't sleep that much." Jack simply shrugged. I chewed on my lip, for every excuse I could come up with, Jack had a solution.

"Look Jack, I've spent a long time here and I've got, like, this 'secret hideout' where I always sleep- er, slept, and I just wanna go back there, collect my stuff and say goodbye, ya’ know? I'll meet you outside your motel bright and early tomorrow morning. Alright?" Maybe the slight truth would work where excuses had failed miserably. Jack sighed.

"You promise you'll come?" He asked.

"Cross my heart," I said, doing the motion.

"Good cause' if you don't show, Cas will know where you went," Sam said, his voice was friendly but it sounded like a threat. I guessed he was suspicious. Sam got in the car.

"That is true," Castiel said, following him. Yeah, they were both suspicious of me.

"Oh. Uh, nice." There went all hopes of running away from this. "Well where are you guys staying? Just so I know where to go," I asked.

"It’s called North Sea Motel, or something like that." Jack paused for a moment. "Uh, I think." I smiled with a shake of my head.

"I think you mean North _Port_ Motel," I corrected him. Jack smiled.

"Yeah, that one!"

"Okay, well, I'll see ya there!" I started to dismount from where I sat, perched in a different tree, but Dean's voice stopped me.

"Say, where is this little ' secret hideout' of yours? We could drive you, just tell us where. Then you could get your stuff and come to the motel with us, you might even get a good night's sleep," Dean offered. I turned him down with a shake of my head.

"Nah, you boys get some sleep. Besides, if I told you where it was, it wouldn't be my 'secret hideout' now would it? Also, it’s not exactly accessible by car anyway, but don't worry, it’s not far." That was a lie. It was all the way across town, but I might need to use it to hide from these guys one day so telling them the location wouldn't be smart.

"Alright well, see ya’ tomorrow, kid." Dean climbed into his car and revved the engine, waiting for Jack before driving off.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow!" Jack smiled at me. His smile was sort of strange as his mouth curved up on one side and down on the other at the same time. I liked it.

"See ya’ tomorrow Jack-Jack." I winked at him from where I sat, perched in a different tree. Then in the blink of an eye, Jack was beside me, pulling me in for a hug. I was surprised but hugged him back. I took a deep, breath through my nose.

' _Holy zoodles, you smell amazing_!' I thought to myself. For a split second the thought entered my mind. For a split second I considered what it might be like.

But _that_ wasn't going to win out.

I pulled away from the hug and Jack smiled his crooked smile and he disappeared, and I waved as the Black Impala drove off. I sighed.

"Whatever you're gonna say, you can go ahead and say it!" I said to the air.

No reply.

No Isaac.

Nothing.

"Ugh! You're so dramatic! If you wanna talk then **talk** , ya friggn' weirdo!" I shouted to no one.

Isaac still didn't appear. I hopped off my branch and began to sprint through the snowy woods at top speed. Mocking all the way.

"Oh I'm Isaac and I'm _so_ superior to everyone and I'm a stinkin' drama queen who has to be all cryptic about my USELESS OPINIONS!"

I shouted the last bit before climbing the rope into the tree house. I had made it in under five minutes. When I hauled my sorry butt inside the tree house, Isaac stood there, waiting. He had his arms crossed and his shoulders square and his face was a mask of barely controlled rage. I copied his stance and stared back at him. He remained silent. I could only do it for so long.

"What?" I asked, giving in. Apparently that question was all it took for Isaac to explode.

"DO YOU THINK THIS IS A FRIKIN' GAME?!" He shouted. I couldn't help but stumble back a few paces. Isaac never yelled, not at me. Isaac yelled at everyone else, but never, ever, me. I blinked a few times, trying to discourage the tears.

"N-no! I-I-I just-"

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!"

"NO! But I-"

"REALLY? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! BECAUSE THAT'S HOW YOU'RE ACTING! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Isaac took a menacing step, and it took a lot of will to stand my ground.

"I don't know! I wasn't-"

"THAT'S RIGHT! YOU WERN'T!" I looked away, blinking furiously to dispel my tears. Isaac sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself.

"I was just trying to save our butts! I didn't think they would take it like that and try to adopt me on the spot!"

"Why didn't you just say no?!"

"Because that would have looked suspicious!"

"Then just run! They'll move on without you! They'll keep going with their lives! They don't care about you!" Isaac insisted. His words hurt. Why? Why did they hurt?!

"That's not true! They said they'd search for me!" I tried, but it was a weak response, and I knew it. Isaac laughed, it was bitter and without humor.

"What? Is it that Half-Angel freak?" He snorted. I lowered my head.

"He's not a freak," I mumbled.

"Sorry, could you say that a little louder? I couldn't hear you over all your stupidity!" Isaac sneered. My head snapped up and my teeth and fists clenched.

"Jack. Is. Not. A. Freak!" I growled. Isaac's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, you don't- No. No, you're not really-" I knew what he was asking, and I simply glared at him.

"What?"

"Do you like him?" Isaac asked, disgust prevalent in his tone. I looked at the floor, grinding my teeth.

"No."

"OH COME ON! REALLY MARTY? YOU GOT A CRUSH ON THAT FREAK-A-ZOID!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Isaac roared, "HE'S A FRIGGIN' TWO-YEAR-OLD FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" I couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT UP ISAAC!!!" I screeched, my pitch rising with my anger. I took a deep breath and stared him in his cold, dead eyes. "If Jack is a freak then so am I!"

"No, you are what you are. That _kid,_ if you can even call him that, is trying to be two things at once! He's more powerful then the actual angel! Couldn't you feel it? That thing could probably kill you without even trying!" I rolled my eyes, my fists clenching tighter. I could feel my nails cutting into my hands, but I didn't care.

"Jack wouldn't hurt me. He's not like other hunters, Isaac! He's not doing this out of hate!" I insisted. Isaac's face twisted into a snarl. He walked over and looked down on me.

"And when he finds out that you've been lying? What do you think he'll do then? What do you think they'll all do? Do you think they'll just shower you with hugs?" He questioned, mockingly.

"No."

"They'll never except you. Once they find out the truth, and they will find out, they'll never love you. You know why?"

 ** _"Stop."_** I ground out through clenched teeth.

"Because they are **_not_** your family, Marty. _They **never** will be_," Isaac hissed.

"I don't need them to be. Besides, I can always talk them into it." Isaac stepped away now and started pacing the floor of our hideout.

"But you won't. You know why? Because it will _never_ be real. That's what you want, isn't it?" He jeered.

"I just want to be safe! I don't wanna run anymore!" I protested, even though he was right. Isaac shook his finger at me.

"No, you want it to be real. You want it _so_ _desperately,_ don't you? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Deep down it's all about Jack, and you know it."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Isaac," I seethed. He turned to me with a quizzical yet mocking expression.

"This little crush you have on the hybrid _freak_ , do you really think you have a chance?" Isaac flicked his finger against my skull. "I know you're all grown up in there, but out here you're still fourteen! And you heard it right out of his mouth, he may be grown up on the outside but he's still only two-years-old! I don't care which side you look at it from, that's pedophilia either way!" I wished I could punch Isaac in the face, much more than I usually did.

"It's not like that! You can't stop me Isaac! This isn't your decision to make!" I shouted at him.

"I'm not letting you go with them. If that means murdering all of them in their beds, then so be it! I'm not going to let them hurt you!" Isaac barked.

"What is wrong with you?! This is my decision! Why do you keep trying to control my life?!" I demanded.

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO WATCH MY SISTER DIE!"

I blinked. I couldn't speak. What could I even say? We stood across from each other, the anger draining away into heartbreak.

"I just want a friend, Isaac. Is that really so wrong of me?" I demanded in a whisper. A rain of emotion was beginning to sizzle out the fire of my fury. My spectral companion stopped in his tracks.

"A friend? What am I, chopped-liver?" Isaac asked, sarcastically. Though his tone was mordant, I could sense the hurt that sapped through.

"Isaac, that's not what I meant," I tried to back-track, but it was useless. Isaac's lip curled and his eyes narrowed.

"I've spent five years stuck in the veil, not being able to talk or be seen by anybody but you. All of that just so your sorry ass wouldn't be so friggin' lonely! I put off going to heaven and this is what I get for it?! What? Am I suddenly not good enough for you anymore? Is that it?!" He spat.

"Of course not, Isaac! You're my brother! You're my best friend and you always will be!" My voice came as a stressed whisper as I strived to explain, "It's just that-"

"That what? What makes him better than me? What makes any of them better than me?! What does that Nephilim freak have that I don't, huh?" He challenged, his voice like burning acid. I couldn't take it anymore.

"YOU'RE DEAD, ISAAC!!!" I screamed, tears gushing down my face like salt-water rivers. I couldn't stop them. "YOU'RE DEAD AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" Isaac blinked, speechless. "Mom and Dad and Jackie and Bree and Jazz; they're gone! They're all gone and it's all my fault!"

"Marty-"

"No, Isaac! You're gone and I can't have you back, not for real. I can't high-five you when we laugh, I can't punch your shoulder when you're annoying me, and when I'm upset you can't wrap your arm's around me and hold me until the tears run dry! You can't do that, and I don't blame you, but you can't!" I took a deep breath and looked at the rough wooden floorboards as I tried to mop up my tear-stained cheeks, but it didn't work. All the sadness from the last five years was escaping now.

"I don't-" Isaac started but I wasn't finished just yet.

"I need someone who can do that, Isaac. It's been exactly five years, eleven months, and twenty-two days since somebody hugged me! I didn't realize how much I needed it until now, and I don't think I can go on like this any longer! Isaac, I am all alone," I lamented.

"You have me, Marty," He whispered. I hadn't realized that ghosts could get choked up.

"Isaac, you're not really here," I whispered, painfully. "I know you're all I have; but I don't have you, not really. I don't want you to go, but every single day, this figment of you reminds me that you're never coming back," I sniffed, still trying to keep it under control, but the look in Isaac's eyes made that impossible.

"Oh, Marty... I-I'm sorry." I rubbed at my eyes, wishing once again that I could lay my head on his shoulder and just cry like I wanted to, but I couldn't.

"I just want you back!" I sobbed, my ragged breaths scraping at my dry, tender throat. Isaac reached out but his arms passed right through me, just like always. I looked to him in despair before moving to sit on the mattress.  
"Why did you have to die?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"Just let me go with them, Isaac. I can't do this anymore."

"If you're going then I'm coming with you. Through thick and thin, remember?"

"Through thick and thin," I agreed. Isaac smiled at me weakly.

"Well, get your stuff together, we're goin' on an adventure," He said. I nodded and strode over to the backpack in the corner. Reaching to the very bottom of the bag, I grabbed hold of the two objects I hated the most.

Two bags filled with a pint each of human blood. The label bore the name: Aspirus Keweenaw Hospital. It was the only hospital anywhere near Copper Harbor, though it was more than twenty miles away. It was a long way to go by foot but now I would never need to go again. I just hoped that wherever these hunters lived there was a hospital nearby. I weighed the bags in my hands and considered the possibility of smuggling them past the hunters. The odds were pretty bad.

"Just wondering, how do you plan to keep this a secret while under the watch of four hunters?" Isaac asked from behind me. I inhaled deeply before turning back to him.

"No idea! But as for right now―" I ripped open a small hole in one of the bags and raised it into the air the way you would raise a toast― "Drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

I think you can figure out what I did after that.

**-2 hours and 56 minutes later-**

After downing both of the bags of the crimson liquid, I finished packing all of my belongings into my backpack and a few extra things I stuffed in my violin case. Then I saluted the now abandoned tree house farewell and tromped off through the snow to say goodbye to the one person in this town that I actually considered a friend.

The bell dinged as I pushed open the door to the pharmacy. I smiled at the shapeshifter behind the counter and waved. Dan-the-Dope-Man, regardless of anyone's opinion about his behavior, was the closest thing to a friend as I had made in these past five years. He may not have been the best person, but I owed him a lot and now this was the only way I could repay him.

"Marty! I thought you died! When I watched you go with those hunters, I didn't know what to do! Are you okay?" There was no one else in the store, so the man with the face of a forty-year-old hopped over the counter and rushed over to me, enveloping me in a hug. In this form, he didn't have his Brooklyn accent.

"I'm fine, Danny but, uh, I gotta tell you something." Dan released me and held me at arm’s length.

"What? What's wrong?" He worried.

"Nothing's wrong," I told him, shaking my head, "But I'm leaving."

"What? Why?" Dan exclaimed.

"Those hunters, they asked me to come with them, they said they're gonna protect me." Dan's brows pulled together and he looked at me with concern.

"Marty, they're _hunters_. Protecting things like us, vampires and shapeshifters, isn't exactly what they do!”

"They don't know what I am, and I plan to keep it that way. But these guys, they're different. They're gonna protect me, and maybe they'll help me find Felix!" I said, gently.

"That's a dangerous game."

"Let's hope I'm good at it."

"You're really gonna do this?"

"Yeah." Dan sighed.

"Well in that case, I'm gonna miss ya, Marty." He wrapped his arms around me, and I hugged him back.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Danny!" Apparently, my eyes hadn't rid themselves of tears completely. A few salty droplets dripped down my cheeks.

"Take care of yourself, sweetie. Remember, if you ever need a place to go, my door is always open." He said, patting my back.

"Thank you, man. For everything. I owe you a lot." I wiped my cheeks and gasped a breath as I pulled away.

"Eh, don't worry about any o' that. Stay alive, Marty. That's all the payment I want," Dan smiled.

"I can do better than that," I promised, smirking.

"Whattdya' mean?"

"If any hunter ever comes to check this place out again, I'm gonna give you a head's up. Sound good?" Dan grinned.

"Sounds great, Marty." He hugged me again and when he pulled away, he had an idea.

"Before you go, here, take these," He said, grabbing several items from different shelves and stuffing them in a bag which he gave to me. I peeked into the bag, inside were several boxes of chocolate truffles, four Hershey's bars, and one of those little solar powered flowers that waves when you place it in the sun. "It's not much, but it’s something to remember me by."

"I'll savor every chocolate, Dan. I'm gonna miss ya, have an awesome life buddy!" I waved as I pushed my way out the door, "I hope you get your daughter back!"

"Thank you, Marty! Take care of yourself! I hope things get better for you!" Dan waved back and I left the pharmacy behind, muttering to myself as I walked down the street to the Motel.

"I hope things get better too."

~ _Hey Alice, do you want to play?_  
 _The Queen's great (or so it's been said)_  
 _Hey Alice, can you play croquet?_  
 _If you're good, you can keep your head_

_Hey Alice, are you here or there_   
_Or somewhere in between?_   
_Hey Alice, would you ever dare_   
_To go back through where you've been?_

_Hey Alice, time is running short_   
_This can't take too long_   
_Make a choice now._   
_On which side of the door_   
_Do you feel you belong?~_

_Lyrics from: Hey Alice by Rachel Rose Mitchell_


	11. The Future Looks Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice is really mean.

Chapter Eleven: The Future Looks Good

~ _You see I had this crazy dream last night, this man he talked to me_  
 _He told me everything that's good and bad about my history_

_He told me that you are,_   
_you are the future_

_And the future looks good_  
 _The future looks good to me_ ~

"Jack," Sam sighed, checking his watch, "You gotta face the possibility that Marty may not be coming."

Jack was pacing back and forth across the motel's parking lot, trying his best not to slip on the crystallized asphalt. Dean had called the frozen tarmac 'Black Ice' and Jack felt that the term was quite accurate, it did feel like he was trying to walk on ice. But Jack just couldn't stand still. It was seven thirty-five A.M. and Marty still had not showed.

"No, she's coming. I'm sure of it!" Jack said with conviction, wringing his hands before shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. The small amount of force he applied was enough to throw him off balance. Jack's feet slipped out from beneath him and his head smacked against the frozen tarmac.

Sam flinched in sympathy but didn't move from the spot where he leaned against the Impala. He made no move to help Jack up as this was the sixth time he had bashed his head on the black ice in the last fifteen minutes. That fall and the five others before it would have been enough to kill or at least critically injure your typical human being.

So naturally, or rather unnaturally, Jack sat up and rubbed the back of his head. The blood soaked his hand as the wound quickly mended itself. Soon all that was left of the injury was a puddle of blood, nearly identical to five others on the ground that quickly began to freeze. Jack scooted on his knees to the edge of the parking lot and used the snow gathered there to wash the crimson substance off his hand. He stood carefully before beginning yet another round of pacing that would most likely end the same way it had the last six times.

Jack wished he could be sitting in the Impala with Dean and Cas but he found that waiting for Marty was more important to him, so he kept pacing. He wouldn't have to wait much longer. Dean had said that they would wait until eight o'clock before going to look for her. That arrangement had taken quite a while to agree upon. When Marty had failed to show up at six o'clock, Jack had immediately feared the worst.

"What if-what if she's hurt, or something? What if she got kidnapped?" He had worried.

"Jack, I'm sure everything is fine. People have different versions of what 'bright and early' means," Dean had reassured him, taking a long sip of coffee. He did not want to be up, but one thousand miles was a long way to go, so it was best they got up early. Besides, the earlier they checked out, the less they would have to pay, the motel charged by the hour and the rates weren't cheap.

"I know, but you saw what happened last night! What if those guys came after her again?" Jack had leaned back against the Impala's seats. The only reason he had gotten into the car in the first place was for the air conditioning. He was deeply worried that Dean might just decide to take off without Marty.

"Jack raises a valid point, Dean. The odds that those men from the bar should come after Martina, are considerable," Cas noted.

"Fine, if the shrimp doesn't show by eight, we go looking for her, and if we can't find her by ten, then I don't care; we're leaving without her," Dean decided. That was when Jack climbed out of the vehicle and began his trek back and forth across the parking lot. Sam had just followed him.

"I dunno, Jack. She seemed sorta skittish, don't ya’ think?" Sam now spoke.

"What are you saying?" Jack asked, turning to Sam.

"I'm saying that maybe you freaked her out. Maybe she got scared and ran off. Maybe- I don't know- maybe she's hiding, or something." Jack's eyes narrowed.

"You think she's scared of me?" He asked, though it sounded like more of a statement than a question. "What did I do wrong?"

"No, no. Jack, you didn't do anything wrong. I think, maybe she's just scared of coming with us- of what that might mean for her. I don't think she's scared of you, Jack. Marty doesn't seem like the sort of person that scares easy," Sam reassured. A smile tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth.

"You're right. She doesn't."

"If she doesn't show, we'll go looking, but you have to be ready in case she's changed her mind."

"She-she wouldn't do that, she promised!" Jack insisted.

"Sometimes people break their promises," Sam warned.

"She's coming. I know she is."

"Okay, Jack." Sam ducked back into the car, leaving the young Nephilim to wait in the cold. Jack turned on his heel to resume pacing.

He forgot he was standing on the ice.

Down Jack went. Yet again. Bashing his head on the asphalt. Yet again.

This time, Jack decided to just stay down for a bit and closed his eyes. He could hear Dean's obnoxious laughter echoing from inside the Impala. Jack came to the conclusion that black ice, and ice in general, was hard, impossible to walk on, and absolutely unforgiving when you slammed your head against it. Jack decided that he didn't like the black ice, he decided that he didn't like ice at all. This was fortunate as seemed as though the feeling was mutual.

There was a skidding noise somewhere off to his left and Jack opened his eyes. He turned his head towards the sound and directly beside him was Marty's amused looking face, only eight inches from his own.

"That was the most graceful thing I think I've ever seen in my life. You should consider ballet, Jack," She said.

Marty lay on the ice next to Jack with her head propped up on her elbow. Her mouth was twisted in a smirk and she held an eyebrow in a raised position. The expression appeared condescending, but Jack could see the sparks of affectionate mirth gleaming in her eyes.

Now, the reason why Marty was laying on the ground was a mystery to Jack. He was also baffled as to how she had managed to sneak up on him the way she had. If she had been walking down the street, he would have seen her coming, but he hadn’t, and it wasn't as though he had been laying on the ground for very long. If she had been close enough to see him fall, then how had he not seen her? Jack sat up and his brows pulled together in slight confusion.

"Where did you come from?" He asked. Marty followed his lead and sat up with a shrug. A large, overstuffed backpack was slung over her shoulders, yet she carried it with ease.

"From over there," She said, causally gesturing to the thicket of trees just behind the Motel as if it was a normal thing for people to go bushwhacking to their destination instead of simply taking the road.

"Why?" Jack wondered. Marty shrugged again.

"Cause' it's faster and way funner than using the road," She answered. Then she blinked and her face sort of scrunched up and she shook her head, laughing to herself. "Funner? _Funner?_ That's not even a word! I think I need to use the sleep." Jack laughed with her for a moment before glancing to his feet and frowning. "What's wrong Jack-Jack?" The line between Jack's brows deepened and he looked to Marty.

"Why do you call me that?" He asked, temporarily distracted from his cold, slippery problem. Marty's mouth twitched with a tiny laugh.

"Jack-Jack is a character in a movie about superheroes. Have you ever seen The Incredibles?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oof, buddy! I'll have to show it to you one of these days, just remind me. Anyway, Jack-Jack is a baby with, like 50 different powers that he just uses willie-nillie and, yeah; it's a pretty funny movie and when you said you had powers and that you're, like two, that's just what I thought of," She explained. "And I'm rambling again, sorry!"

"I don't mind. I like knowing what you're thinking about," Said Jack. Marty ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy sort of way.

"Nah, you'll get tired of it eventually." Marty tapped her forehead. "Up here is nothin' but a random mix of movie quotes, song lyrics, and paradoxical questions."

"I don't think so," Jack said, shaking his head. Marty made a face.

"Well I do! I live up there, dude! Anyway, what was the long face for?" Her change of subject brought Jack to his problem.

"I don't like ice," He said, as if that explained everything. Marty raised an eyebrow in question, "It's impossible to walk on!" Jack exclaimed.

"Ah, I see. I guess that explains why you look like a homicide victim." Marty gestured to the frozen pools of Jack's blood on the tarmac and the blood coating the back of his head. "Want some help getting up?" Jack nodded.

Planting her feet on the icy surface, Marty stood and extended her hand for Jack to take. He used her arm to pull himself up, doing his best to replicate what Marty had done to stand. He wobbled a bit and almost fell back down, but Marty caught and steadied him before that happened. When he was vertical again, Jack glanced toward the Impala and realized that now he had to get over to it without falling. Marty was quick to notice his worry.

"Come on, Jack. It's really not that hard, look!" Letting go of his hand and sliding out onto the ice, she twirled once, jumped into the air and then twirled again, lifting her foot to her knee. Her foot touched back down and dragged her to a stop, facing Jack who looked like he'd seen a miracle. "See?" Marty did jazz-hands.

"I don't think I can do that," Jack said, sounding a little intimidated.

"Oh, no way. That took me years, I was just showing off!" She explained with a wave of her hand. Moving back to him, she reached down to pick up an instrument case and wrap a gray plastic grocery bag around her hand.

"You should teach me!"

Marty chuckled and pulled some of her hair away from her face. Her black-to-grey-to-white hair was down again today, descending all the way to her knees. Jack had never met anyone with hair that long, but he thought it was amazing.

"Alright, just remind me take you ice-skating and movie bingeing, kiddo."

"I don't think you can call me 'kiddo'," Jack said with a frown.

"Why not? If you don't like it, I'll stop saying it."

"Well, I am biologically older than you, right?" Jack pointed out. Marty chuckled.

"Where does a two-year-old hear a word like 'biologically'?"

"I heard Sam use it."

"Makes sense." Marty shrugged. "Anyway, you're right, but I call everyone 'kiddo' age doesn't really matter. I call people all sorts of things."

"Like what?"

"You'll find out, honey-bunches-of-oats."

"Is that one of them?"

"Yup!" Marty snatched Jack's hand and helped him over to the car where she knocked on the driver's side window. Dean rolled it down and she glanced at the men inside. "Hey guys!"

*******

"H-hey, Marty! You-you came!" Sam greeted me, he sounded surprised.

"I promised I would!" I said, I didn't miss the 'I-told-you-so' look Jack shot at Sam, "Dean, could you pop the trunk? I've got precious cargo." I raised the instrument case with my violin up into view.

"Yeah, sure." Dean climbed out of the car and skidded a little getting to the back where he opened the trunk.

I swallowed deeply. There were a LOT of weapons in there. Dean pulled on a tab and a panel came down, covering the arsenal in the truck's false bottom. I placed my case in carefully and slid it all the way to the back. Taking off my backpack, I positioned it between the case and the truck's door so my instrument wouldn't slide around. It was the most valuable thing I owned; I couldn't have it getting damaged. I then nodded to Dean and he closed the trunk. I was really doing this.

Jack opened the Impala's door for me and clung to it like a lifeline as I gathered my hair and slid into the backseat next to Cas. The boy followed after me and pulled the door shut.

"Here we go." Dean put the car into gear and rolled it out onto the road.

"So, where are you guy's taking me?" I asked, shifting to get comfortable in my seat.

"Lebanon, Kansas," Dean answered.

"Ooh, that's a long way away. I'm sorry I was so late. Did I make you very late?" Dean shrugged.

"Doesn't really matter, but yeah."

"I'm really sorry, I just wanted to say goodbye to somebody," I apologized, "But I brought chocolate! Will that atone for my sins?" I raised the bag of goodies Dan had given me.

"Hell yeah!" Dean reached back and opened his hand for the brown gold. I dropped a truffle into his palm, tossing one into Sam's lap and handing another to Jack. I held one out to Cas but he turned me down.

"No thank you, Martina," The angel said, gently.

"It's Marty, remember?" I corrected him and shrugged, unwrapping the candy. "Well, more for me, I guess." Dean reached his hand back again, asking for seconds. "Dude, this is gonna be a long ride, we gotta save our provisions." I declared, dramatically slapping his hand away.

"Aw, man!"

"Suck it up, butter-cup." I was about to pop the candy into my mouth when I noticed something on the wrapper. "Does anybody here like nougat?" I asked. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes begged for the truffle in my hand.

"I do."

"Oh good! I can't stand the stuff!" I passed him the chocolate. Jack looked at me like I was insane.

"Oh no, Jack. She doesn't like nougat, are you sure you guys can be friends?" Sam joked. At least I was pretty sure he was joking.

"You say that like I committed high treason!" I chimed.

"I dunno, I do feel betrayed," Jack said with his mouth full. I faked a gasp.

"I don't believe this! Jack, are you breaking up with me?" Dean burst out laughing, Sam snorted, and Jack just gave me his lopsided grin. My comment even won a quiet chuckle from Cas. I took that as a good sign.

"Yeah, I think so." Jack chuckled.

"Can we still be friends?" I asked, sarcasm dripping from my every word. Jack pretended to think about that.

"Only if you teach me to ice-skate," He mock-decided.

"It's a date! Wait, no its not, you broke up with me." I reached out and shook Jack's hand, sealing our satirical deal. The car shook with laughter and I gave myself a mental tally mark as I tied up my treat bag, placing it at my feet. When the laughter died down, Castiel was the first to speak up.

"Was that an instrument case you brought with you?" He asked.

"Yeah it is. Why?"

"I'd just like to get to know you," He answered simply.

"We all do. So, what instrument do you play, Marty?" Sam turned in his seat to look at me.

"Uh, I play the violin," I answered timidly.

"Are you very good?" Sam wondered.

"Um, well, I don't know. I'm sorta out of practice, but I started playing when I was eight," I replied. Sam chuckled.

"I'll take that as a yes." His tone was warm, despite his previous distrust. It made me smile, maybe I was winning him over.

"Okay, my turn," Dean spoke up.

"Yeah?"

"What's with the hair? I mean, that's a _lot_ of hair. Why don't you cut it?" He asked. I bit my lip and nodded, trying to think of an acceptable answer.

"Well, my mom loved to braid hair, and my sisters, Bree and Jackie, hated having long hair so they cut theirs real short and my mom couldn't do anything with it, but I liked having my hair long. My mom would spend hours working on my hair, that was our time together. See, she always got so sad when I would cut it and now I just-" I stopped and looked at the floor of the Impala. "Now I just can't bring myself to cut it. Not without her. I don't want to make her sad. It's all I've got left of her." With a start, I realized I was crying and quickly wiped my tears away with my sleeve.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" I cut Dean off.

"It's okay." It had to be.

"Well, what about the color, what's that about? Or does this have a tragic story behind it too?" Dean asked, trying to make a joke. I cracked a smile.

"Oh, I've always wanted to have it like this. I love the fading colors, so hiding from a blood thirty vampire just gave me the motivation to actually go through with it," I shrugged.

"So, what's your real hair color?" Dean pressed.

"Black."

"Wait, that's natural?" He sounded stunned.

"Yeah!" I giggled a little. "The black is real, only the grey and white parts are dyed."

"You're lucky, black hair is cool. Looks good on you too."

"Thanks’ Dean."

That was when we passed the small, wooden sign on the side of the road. The paint was old, faded by the sun, and chipping away but I knew what the words said.

**_ Now leaving Copper Harbor _ **   
**_ We'll get you back soon enough! _ **

  
As I watched the town I'd called home for so many years fade from my view, I found myself hoping that I'd never return. I looked forward at the road ahead of me and the hunters beside me.

I looked to the future.

The future was looking pretty good.

_~See, I had this crazy dream last night,_   
_this man he talked to me_   
_He told me everything that's good and bad about my history_

_He told me you are,_   
_you are the future_

_And the future looks good_   
_The future looks good to me~_

Lyrics from: The Future Looks Good by One Republic


	12. Sleep Peacefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cricket is sort of like Jack's hallucination/conscience projection from season 14. Tell me what you think of it!

Chapter Twelve: Sleep Peacefully

~ _What story should I tell?_  
 _Will it end happy, will it turn out well?_  
 _What dreams do I own?_  
 _Can I call any place my home?_

_And I rock myself to sleep,_   
_and I tell myself_   
_"don't get caught too deep"_   
_'Cause I know by now,_   
_you're here for me._

_And I tell myself "move along"_   
_and I tell myself_   
_"you were all wrong"_   
_But I know by now,_   
_wrong was right for me._

_I'll sleep peacefully~_

The black paved road of the near-empty highway stretched out in front of us, a stark contrast to the piles of glittering snow that the snowplows had pushed off the street. We had been on the road for 9 hours and were now somewhere in Iowa. The area we were now driving through was so much brighter than Copper Harbor ever was. There wasn't so much as a cloud to be seen in the sky. The last few orange rays of light from the setting sun sprinkled across the landscape as it dipped below the horizon, glittering and reflecting off hills blanketed in white. The sight almost hurt my eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Whipping out my phone I snapped as many pictures as I possibly could, though I knew they would never do justice to the spectacular view.

The sun sank lower and lower and eventually vanished beneath the horizon. Then the stars came out. Scattered across the black velvet sky, they were so numerous it seemed impossible. I could see the differences in colors and size, and I could trace the shape of the Milky-Way. There were no trees or streetlamps lining the Iowa highway and it felt as if I was swimming through inky blackness, like I was swimming between the stars. The glittering lights were so bright and so close. It was special sort of magical.

I rested my elbows on my knees and my head between my hands and stared out the windshield at the beautiful black expanse. On my right, Castiel copied my position.

"Jack tells me you like the stars," he said. Upon hearing his name, Jack briefly looked to me and smiled before turning his gaze back to the window. I had been drifting in and out of conversation with various partners throughout the car ride.

"I do, I love them," I kept my voice soft and my answer simple, "I've never seen so many at once before. I don't think I'll ever get used to it." Castiel smiled softly.

"You know, I am several billion years old, and I am still baffled by the magnificence of this universe. Sights like this, they never get old." I turned my head away from the bright lights in the sky to look at the angel beside me.

"Have you been up there?"

He nodded.

"Yes, I have."

"What's it like?"

Castiel sighed in a melancholy sort of way. I could see the reflection of all those stars gleaming in his eyes.

"It's more beautiful than you can imagine."

I nodded and gazed back out at view of the heavens.

"I wish I could live up there."

Castiel chuckled.

"Someday you might. Who knows what will happen?" He said.

"Yeah."

"However," he added, "As for right now, I think you need to get some rest."

"Nah, sleep is for the weak." At that moment I yawned, emphasizing my point. Dean glanced at me in the rear-view mirror.

"We can pull off and stop at a motel overnight if you need some sleep," He offered. I shook my head and tried to blink away my sleepiness.

"Don't stop on my account! I can sleep in the car," I insisted.

"You sure?" Dean asked. I gave him a thumbs up.

"Oh yeah. I actually sleep better in cars, if you can believe it. Something about the noise and the motion puts me to sleep like a baby, I'm all good." For once I told the truth. I really did sleep better in cars.

"Okay, as long as you're comfy, we've got about eight more hours till' we get there." Dean turned down the volume on whatever album we'd been listening to all day. I'd never been a fan of rock music, but some of Dean's songs weren't that bad.

"We'll try to be quiet for you, Marty," Sam said. I yawned again and rubbed my eyes.

"Thanks guys, for everything. Honestly, I can't even remember the last time I had a good night's sleep."

"You're welcome, kid. This is what we do. Now shut your eyes." Dean mock commanded. I rolled them instead and turned to Jack.

"Jack?" I said to get his attention.

"Hm?"

"What are your feelings on being used as a pillow?" Jack's face was painted with all shades of confusion.

"I-I don't, um, I-" He tried to answer but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

"I'm just kidding," I explained. "You don't have a choice in the matter!"

I grabbed his arm and tugged it around my shoulders so I could lay my head on his chest. Jack's entire body stiffened, and he looked to Cas with an expression that said _'Help me, she's doing something weird. Tell me what to do_ '. Castiel merely shrugged and in the front seat Dean snorted. I chuckled and waited for Jack to shift around a bit and get comfortable before I closed my eyes.

"You're a comfy pillow," I remarked.

"Um, thank you?"

I couldn't see his face, but Jack sounded extremely confused. I decided then that I needed something to hold on to. It took me a few moments to feel around for his arm but when I found it, I gripped his hand and held it up.

"This is mine now."

Wrapping his arm around my waist, I tangled our fingers together and smirked when I felt Jack chuckle and wrap his other arm around me in a way that was friendly and natural.

"If this keeps up, I think we're gonna have to have a talk with Jack about a thing or two." I heard Dean whisper to Sam.

"I heard that."

"Shut up, Mcfly. You're supposed to be sleeping." He scolded, teasingly. I kept my eyes closed but stuck out my tongue at him. I smiled when I heard him laugh.

"Goodnight, guys."

"Goodnight." Dean, Sam and Cas chimed together.

"Sweet dreams, Marty," Jack whispered.

With that, I let myself slowly drift into oblivion's velvet embrace.

***

"Is she asleep, yet?" Dean asked in a whisper, peering in the mirror at the sleeping girl.

"Um, I'm not sure." Jack craned his neck in an effort to find out, but he just couldn't tell.

"I'm trying, Mom," Marty mumbled into Jack's chest. That made him grin.

"From that I'd say, she's close."

"I'm not your mom, Marty," Dean sighed.

"Sorry, dad." She murmured. Dean just shrugged.

"Well, that's a little closer I guess," He said, his lips twitching with a tiny smile.

"Say, Jack, when's the last time you slept?" Sam asked, turning in his seat to face Jack who's face scrunched up as he thought about his answer.

"Four days ago, I think." He replied. Now that he thought about it, Jack realized just how tired he was.

"Dude. Sleep. Now." Dean ordered. Jack blinked a few times and yawned.

"No, I can wait." He yawned again.

"Jack..." Cas pressed.

"I can't go to sleep yet," Jack insisted.

"Why not? Marty back there did it just fine," Dean said.

"Gimmie back my socks, Biden," Marty mumbled.

"See? Out like a flickering lightbulb." Dean joked.

"No, you don't get it. I can't go to sleep, she's right here. She'd think I'm weird or something." Jack worried.

"Well, you're not exactly normal, Jack." Cas muttered under his breath.

"Look, she's the one sleeping on _you_ kid." Dean paused, glancing at the others in the car. "That came out wrong. The _point_ is, she clearly doesn't know the meaning of personal space. Just go for it." He finished, refocusing on the road.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked. Dean's eyeroll was nearly audible.

"Go to sleep, Jack. She ain't gonna care."

Jack nodded.

Snow began to fall on the roof of the Impala with a tip, tip, tipping noise as Jack rested his head atop Marty's. Her hair was soft under his cheek and he matched his breathing with the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

"I love that sound," She sighed, in her half-asleep stupor. Jack guessed she was referring to the sound of the falling snow.

"Me too," he whispered, closing his eyes and drifting off to the same place as the girl beside him.

*******

  
"Jack."

...

"Jack!"

...

"You have _got_ to be kidding me... JACK!"

Jack woke with a start. Blinking rapidly, he attempted to make sense of the world around him. Confusion washed over him as he could have sworn, he had fallen asleep in the Impala next to Marty. But he wasn't there anymore. In fact, he wasn't sure where he was.

Everything was white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Well, actually this place didn’t really seem to have walls or a ceiling or a floor. It was all just white, stretching off forever. Behind Jack somebody coughed.

"Behind you," They said, sounding rather annoyed.

Jack turned around slowly and cautiously. Standing in front of him now stood Marty. Her tiny hands on her slim hips and her face twisting into a frown that was somehow amused and annoyed at the same time. She raised her eyebrows at him, and her foot tapped rapidly on whatever surface it was that they seemed to be standing on.

"Heya, Jack." Marty smirked.

Jack's eyes shifted nervously left and right. His hand reached up on its own accord to rub at the knot he felt in his chest. He got the distinct impression that something here wasn't right. He planned to figure out what was going on as soon as he could determine where exactly ' _here_ ' was.

"Don't worry Jack, it’s just us. Or, I should say, it’s just you," Marty said, clarifying and confusing things for Jack at the same time. Jack shifted his gaze back to the girl in front of him.

"Where are we?" He asked, his brows drawing together. Marty smiled at him pleasantly.

"We're inside your head!" She answered.

"What?" Jack wondered how she could answer his question while giving him so many more at the same time. She giggled a bit at his confused expression. Spreading her arms like wings, she spun in a circle.

"Look around, Jack! It’s so big! You should be proud!" She stopped spinning to grin at him. The line between Jack's eyebrows and his confusion were deepening quickly. Marty tapped her chin and looked upward with a smirk, as if thinking about something. "But we really should both be proud." She mused.

"Marty, what's going on? Are you okay?" Jack took a step towards the girl reaching his hand out. Marty flicked her eyes up and down between him and his outstretched hand, her expression darkened. She held up her hands in a defensive gesture as she took a few sauntering steps back.

"First of all, I'm not Marty," She stated, evenly. Jack's position instantly switched from inviting to aggressive. He bent his knees and widened his stance, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet, readying himself for a fight.

"Who are you?! Where is she?! What did you do to her?!" He demanded. His eyes pulsed with an orange light as he prepared to use his powers. The person in front of him, who apparently wasn't Marty, put a hand on her chest, gasping with obvious mockery.

"You wound me, Jack! You're not even going to ask who I am? I thought we were better friends than this." She closed her eyes and shook her head, sighing in an obnoxious and sarcastic way. Jack wasn't having any of this _thing's_ games. He clenched his teeth and raised his hand threateningly.

"Where's Marty?" He growled, trying his best to imitate Sam, Dean, or Cas when they were in similar positions. The not-Marty just rolled her eyes, like she was bored.

"Yeah, no. We ain't doing that in here." She frowned, waving her hand simply. Jack scowled and tried to blast her back with his power, but he abruptly realized that he couldn't. Nothing was happening. She had taken his powers away. His eyes snapped open wide and he stared at his hand. Now he was the one taking a few steps back.

"W-what? I-" Jack stuttered. The not-Marty crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels, taking on a much more relaxed position.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot here, Jack. Can we start over?" She tilted her head and smiled pleasantly at him before sitting cross-legged on the ground. Jack nodded at her with a distrusting expression but hesitantly copied her position.

"Thank you, Jack. I'm sorry about the attitude earlier, it's just that, with this form you gave me, her personality and came with it and then there was your expectations and perception to deal with, so I had to battle through that. I'm very sorry, but I think we're all good now."

Jack was struck by just how pretty the pleasant smile on her face was and had to remind himself that it wasn't really Marty.

"What do you mean? Who are you?" He asked, expecting another vague and confusing answer. The girl giggled, her laugh sounded exactly like Marty's bubbling, wind chime laugh.

"I'm you, Jack!" She replied, brightly.

"No, you're not- you can't- how can you be _me_? I don't understand," Jack shook his head, bewildered. The girl giggled again.

"I'm not **_you_** you, of course. I'm your conscience! Or your sub-conscious or whatever, really." Jack didn't know what to say. Not-Marty leaned forward as if to tell him a secret. "Ya remember what I said about us being inside your head?" She reminded him.

"So, this is a dream?" He asked. She nodded.

"You could call it that, yes. So, you don't have to worry about Marty. When you wake up, she'll be right were you left her, safe, sound, and all cuddled up in your arms." She wrapped her arms around herself, jokingly. Jack nodded, sighing with relief, now he could figure out the rest of this weirdness.

"If you're my conscience, why do you look like Marty?" Was his next question. The girl claiming to be his conscience shrugged.

"You were thinking about her when you fell asleep. It's that simple." Jack nodded slowly.

"This is confusing," he stated. The girl just nodded.

"It is. Let's make it a little less confusing, shall we?" She stretched her hand out for him to shake, "I'm not Marty so how bout' you call me Cricket?"

"Why Cricket?"

"Like Jiminy Cricket! From Pinocchio!" She cheered. Jack took her hand and shook it firmly, still not completely sure he trusted all she was saying.

"Hello Cricket, it's nice to meet you?" He said, more as a question than a statement.

"It's nice to meet you too, Jack!" Cricket giggled for a moment before sobering up in a snap, "But we need to have a talk," She said, her voice grave.

"About what?" Asked Jack, carefully. Cricket chuckled at his apprehensive tone.

"Relax kiddo, it's not like I'm mad at you!" She reassured him.

"Then why am I here? What do we need to talk about?" Cricket frowned; her expression dark.

"We need to talk about Marty," She said. Jack narrowed his eyes.

"What about Marty?"

"There's something off about that girl, but I don't know what it is," Cricket answered.

"Why not?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Well, if _you_ don't know, then _I_ don't know, and **_we_** don't know!" She he exclaimed.

"Oh."

"But I'm telling you, all five-foot-two of _this,_ " Cricket gestured at Marty's body, "Isn't what it seems." Jack frowned.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Martina is dangerous," Cricket deadpanned.

"No! She's my friend! She's not dangerous!" Jack protested. Cricket raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Really? How much do you actually _know_ about her? You don't even know her full name," She pointed out, her voice harsh. "She's keeping secrets, Jack."

"No."

"Don't make me the villain here, Jack. You're making me the villain, I'm not!"

"Stop! Get out of my head!" Jack shouted.

"Jack, listen to me. I'm you and I'm trying to _protect_ us!" Jack scrambled to his feet, shaking his head.

"I don't believe you!" The girl in front of him stood too.

"If you won't listen to me, then maybe you'll listen to mom." Then Marty was gone. Standing in her place was Kelly Kline.

"Mom?" Jack whispered he couldn't stop himself inching forward. Kelly opened her arms.

"Jack! Please listen to me, you can't trust that girl. I know she's your friend, but you need to look-" Jack cut her off.

"You're not real!" He said, backing away. In an instant, Kelly was gone, and Cricket came back.

"Fine, suit yourself." Cricket's glared was ferocious and her voice was cruel. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Jack blinked and when he opened his eyes, Cricket was gone.

*******

"We should probably wake em' up," Sam whispered as the Impala rounded the turn off on the dirt road that led to the bunker.

"Wait! Cas, do me a favor," Dean said passing his phone to the angel in the back seat, "take a picture of those two." Jack and Marty were still fast asleep. The only thing that had changed in eight hours on the road was that Marty had grabbed a hand full of Jack's shirt. Taking the phone from Dean's hand, Cas snapped three pictures of the sleeping duo.

"Here." He passed the phone back to Dean who took his eyes off the road to observe the pictures.

"Awesome." Dean grinned. "These are going in the black-mail folder."

"In the what?" Sam asked.

"The black-mail folder, Sammy. You don't have one?"

"Uh, no."

"Your loss," Dean shrugged, turning his attention back to driving. The car was quiet for a few minutes.

"So, what's in the black-mail folder?" Sam asked after a bit. Dean smirked at his brother.

"You'll find out," He said, ominously, "Next time I want something, you'll find out."

Sam decided in that moment that he did not want to find out what was in Dean's black mail folder. As the bunker came into view, Castiel reached over and shook the shoulders of the sleeping pair next to him.

"Jack, Marty, we're here," Cas urged, gently. Jack eye's opened and he blinked the tiredness from them, his neck was stiff, so he stretched it out. Marty, however, did not wake nearly as easily.

"Martina." Cas shook her shoulder again.

"Hmm?"

"Wake up."

"Five more minutes." She murmured. Jack chuckled at her antics.

"Marty, wake up. We're home." Marty's big grey eyes fluttered open and she turned her head to look up at Jack.

"Home?" She sighed.

"Yeah, home," Jack said. Marty sat up and yawned, stretching her arms and rubbing her eyes.

"Home sounds pretty good."

_~What story should I tell?_   
_Will it end happy?_   
_Will it turn out well?_   
_What dreams do I own?_   
_Can I call any place my home?_

_And I rock myself to sleep_   
_And I tell myself_   
_"Don't fall to deep"_   
_Cause I know by now_   
_You're not comin' for me_

_And I tell myself_   
_"Move along"_   
_And I tell myself_   
_"You were all wrong"_   
_But I know by now_   
_Wrong was right for me~_

_Lyrics from: Sleep Peacefully by Lilly Kershaw_

_I'll sleep peacefully~_


	13. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secretly this story is just one really long and cringe worthy height joke.

Chapter Thirteen: Home

_~With every small disaster_   
_I'll let the waters still_   
_Take me away to some place real_

_'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone_   
_Is where you go when you're alone_   
_Is where you go to rest your bones_   
_It's not just where you lay your head_   
_It's not just where you make your bed_   
_As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?~_

  
Home.

That wasn't a word I was used to.  
Not anymore.

"I stand by what I said earlier, Jack. You make an excellent pillo― Oh holy crap."

I gasped as Jack lead me inside the literal bunker that these guys apparently lived in. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, because their bunker was enormous.

We entered through a non-descript entrance, that nobody would have noticed, onto a platform that was less of a balcony and more of a catwalk which I guessed was the second floor, though I couldn't tell exactly because it was a bunker and it probably had more levels than I could see. The wrought iron railing of the balcony was formed into a design of circles atop rectangles. The catwalk ended with a set of steel stairs that curved with the wall.

My feet clanged on the metal as I descended the stairwell. At the bottom of those stairs on my right was a doorway that led somewhere else and on my left was what I guessed was the entryway. There was a big glowy-table-thing with a map on it in the center of the space, surrounded by several chairs. There was this big, greenish panel thingy attached to one of the tan tiled walls that looked like some sort of old timey computer equipment. Through a big gray archway, I could see into another room that looked like a library with a huge telescope at the end of it. On the far left of the room there was another hallway going off somewhere else. Dean stepped off the staircase and spread his arms out.

"Welcome to the Batcave!" He said, grinning. "I see you're impressed." Only then did I realize my mouth was hanging open. I closed it and shook my head.

"This place is colossal," I said in awe.

"Yeah, it's a little pretentious but you get used to it." Sam shrugged, passing me. Jack just stood over my shoulder, watching my reaction.

"True, but if you want protection, this is about the safest place in the world. It's got warding against every evil thing out there. Vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it," Dean boasted. Just then, Isaac appeared on the catwalk, as far from us as he could.

"Ha! Then how did I get in here genius!" He jeered. It took every last drop of will power I had not to facepalm right then and there. It was warm in here and the hunters would certainly notice a sudden temperature drop. Was Isaac trying to get us discovered? (I'd say killed but he's already dead.)

"Yep, nothing gets in here unless we let it. Or, you know, bring it in accidentally." Sam shared a look with Cas and his older brother.

"Scooby-dooby-doo!" Dean laughed, shaking his head. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the story behind that or not. Meanwhile Isaac wore a sheepish expression.

"Oh, guess that’s how I got in then." Words cannot express how much I wanted to kick my brother at that moment. After he was finished laughing, Dean looked to Jack.

"Kid, you take Mcfly here, find her a room, get her all settled, then give her the grand tour. I'm gonna hit the sack." Dean turned on his heel with a wave and whistled his way out of the room. Castiel mumbled something about research and crossed through the arch into the library.

"We're gonna find the monster that took your family away, Marty. But until then, think of us as your new one." I looked up at Sam and was reminded again of how huge the guy was. His head was in a totally different weather system than mine and I wondered if it was harder to breathe all the way up there.

"Thanks Sam." I took three steps higher on the stairs and made grabby hands at him. "Come here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me but obeyed anyway. I took a tiny jump and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around me with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Gigantor. I gotta hug ya’ somehow!" I rebuked, defending my height... Or rather, the lack thereof. I guess his laughter was justified though. My feet were dangling at least a foot from the floor. I let go of him and dropped back to the ground, it felt like falling off Mount Everest. Sam just shook his brown mane, smiling down at me.

"If there's anything you need, like help reaching the top shelf, just ask." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Sasquatch. So, what are you gonna do?" I asked. Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Put my stuff away. Then I'm gonna go reorganize the pantry, make sure you can reach the cereal," He smirked, and followed Dean's path through the other door-way.

"Way to rub it in, Sam!" I called after him. I heard him chuckle as he rounded the corner out of my sight. Then I rounded on Jack, who had been waiting patiently. "Well, Jack, if you wanna make fun of my height, now's the time to do it. Lead on!" I opened my arms, preparing for insults.

"It is rare that I get to feel tall, but I'm not going to make fun of you," He said, turning on his heel to lead me through the door-way behind us.

"Good. Cause' I might have slapped you if ya had." Jack looked back at me questioningly, but I just shrugged.

I followed him through twisting and turning hallways that I knew I wouldn't be memorizing anytime soon. We kept walking for what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was ninety-eight percent convinced that we might pass a sign that said: ' _Now Entering Nebraska_.' It didn't help that all the halls looked exactly the same.

"Back at the motel, the night we met, Dean said you had this thing," Jack remarked, turning to face me and walking backward.

"What thing?" I asked.

"I think he called it ‘ _A Napoleon Complex_ ' or something like that," Jack said, innocently. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"And do you know what that is?"

"No. I haven't looked it up yet. Do you know?" I snorted.

"Oh, yeah. I know," I said. Already thinking of a comeback for the next time I saw Dean.

"What is it?" Jack was simply curious. I smirked at him.

"Do you know who Napoleon was?" I asked him, I was pretty sure of the answer.

"No." Just as I thought. The Winchesters needed to teach their half-angel some history. As for now though, I could give him the watered-down version.

"Napoleon was a French dude, not to be confused with the ice-cream. He was five foot six and when people called him short, he blew them up." I told him. Jack nodded seriously.

"I see, so he was insecure about his height and used violence to compensate for it. Then, the complex was named after him." I had to give it to him, the kid was smart.

"Yep. Never mind the fact that he took over almost all of Europe, he will always be famous for being a human chihuahua." I had to at least teach Jack something remotely accurate. Jack frowned and his eyebrows pulled together as if remembering something unpleasant. I guessed he had come into contact with a chihuahua before, it didn't look like he was fond of them.

"So, Dean thinks you're insecure about your height," Said Jack, returning us to the original topic.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you?" I shrugged.

"Not really. I'm just obnoxious." Jack laughed, coming to a stop in front of a black door that looked just the same as the rest that lined the hall except for the plaque with the number 22 etched into it.

"This is my room," He said. "And that's Sam's." He pointed to the door on the left of his which had a 21 on it. "You can pick any of these other rooms." His eyes flicked to the door next to his on the right, room 24. I briefly wondered what had happened to 23. When I met his eyes, he looked at his feet, as if his shoes were much more interesting than me.

"Does anyone live in here?" I tapped the door with 24 on it.

"No, it's empty but you don't have to take that one if you don't want to." Jack glued his eyes to the polished cement floor and ran his hand through his hair, a tick I was sure he picked up from Sam.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and putting my hands on my hips. I watched as a pink tint started to creep up Jack's neck.

"I don't want you to think that you have to stay in that one just because I want you too," He muttered.

"You want me to stay next to you?" I pointed out. Jack's expression went blank, his eyes wide as quarters.

"Um, I-I-I don't- I didn't mean--" Jack stumbled over his words. His gaze drilled straight into the floor, his hands were fidgeting, and his right foot twisted its toe against the concrete. His body language pointed at nervousness. Why was he this nervous? Was it me? He hadn't been this way before, what was different now? I decided to ease his nerves with a little humor. I stuck my hand into his line of sight and waved.

"Yoo, hoo! I'm up here, Jack." He flicked his eyes up to my face but kept his head down. "Well, not **_up_** per-say but you know what I mean," I joked. His smile was still pointed at the concrete. I guessed we'd just have to work on that.

"S-sorry." His laugh was a breathy one. I sighed, planting my hands on my hips.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jack. It's nice to have someone who wants me around, I haven't had that in a long time." I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and his mouth did that crooked smile of his. He even flicked his eyes up at me.

"Well, uh, what are friends for?" He sounded like he was reciting something he heard in a movie.

I wondered whether Jack was trying to flirt with me or not. A tiny part of me hoped that he was and another part of me kicked myself for hoping for that. How could I think that way? Jack was two, he was probably too young to understand feelings like that, if he even had them. He probably didn't have them. He was probably just doing his best to make a friend, by going off what he had seen. I mean, the movies are pretty against a boy and a girl simply being friends. Besides if he knew what I was, he wouldn't be standing here talking to me. He'd be trying to kill me. Isaac was right. Any friendship I made here, would never be real. It never could be.

"Right," I said softly. Now I was the one looking down at my feet. But I wasn't doing it out of nerves. I was doing it out of shame. Glancing up at him through my lashes, Jack's smile faltered for only a moment. He grasped the doorknob and turned it and as the door swung inward, Jack flipped a switch and the white florescent lights buzzed to life.

The room was simply decorated, and by that I mean it wasn't decorated at all. The walls, ceiling, and floor were grey and a built-in shelf stuck out from the far wall. In the center of the space sat a full-size bed with a plain white duvet, white sheets, and down pillows. There was a dresser pushed up against one wall, a desk pressed against the other, and a tiny night stand next to the bed, all of which were fashioned out of wood the shade of walnut.

"Um, it's not much, but we can get you some stuff to make it yours," Jack smirked down at me and I ducked past him into the room.

Other than those objects, the room was bare, but I found myself overwhelmed. My chest tightened and my eyes stung, it was so little, but it was more than I'd had in five years. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and placed my violin case on the bed. Keeping my back turned, my face hidden from Jack, I blinked rapidly to dispel my tears.

"It's wonderful, Jack. I-I love it." I took a deep breath and pasted a smirk on my face. When I had control of my emotions, I swung back to face him. "Now, how bout' that grand tour?" Jack's brows pushed together.

"Don't you want to put your things away, first?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Nah, I can do that anytime. This place is pretty awesome, I wanna see it all!" I grinned at him, pressing all the excitement I could muster into my voice. Jack grinned back.

"Well, um, what would you like to see first?"

"No idea! What's your favorite room?" Jack's eyes flicked to the side as he thought about his answer for a moment.

"The kitchen," He decided. His seriousness made me chuckle.

"I like the way you think. You lead, I'll follow!" This time, instead of smiling at the concrete, Jack smiled at my shoes! We were making good progress. Now if I could get him to smile at my face, then we would really be getting somewhere.

Jack swung around on his heel and walked about four paces before opening a door on the other side of the hall. This one was labeled with 23. ' _So that's where it went._ ' I thought, as Jack pushed the door open and walked through.  
Inside was the kitchen. It wasn't the kind you have at home. No, this was one of those industrial sort of kitchens, all polished steel and florescent lighting. (The buzzing of those light bulbs was extremely annoying, but I would just have to get used to it.)

There were pots and pans everywhere. Any sort of cook where you could imagine was in there, hanging on racks, dangling from hooks, sitting on shelves, or habitually left on the stove. What looked like easily one hundred white plates were stacked neatly on the shelves of the giant stainless-steel island that dominated the space. Two ovens, stood side-by-side in a little nook, one of which had a griddle attached to the top. Hovering over the two ovens were large vents of gleaming steel.

To the right of the cooking station was the preparation area and a sink as big as your average tub. I'm not kidding. The thing was gargantuan. Above that monstrosity of a kitchen sink sat an array of porcelain cups, and a tissue box, on a shelf. To the right of _that_ , there sat a large stainless steel shelving unit that was home to various cooking supplies and four white drawers in the middle.

On the far wall, was a brown bulletin board decorated with various notes, covered in scribbles and sketches, tacked to it. Beneath the bulletin was a table crafted from some dark colored wood, that was either oak or mahogany, and was attached to the wall. Affixed to the table were eight stool-like seats constructed from the same dark material as the table itself. Directly to the right side of the door, was a coat rack and six small lockers stacked vertically. The right wall was an archway and set of stairs that lead off into a hallway branching to the right and a different set of stairs to the left.

As I peered around to the left side of the door and past another steel shelf, I laid eyes upon what could only be the freezer/refrigerator combo. It was this enormous floor-to-ceiling white panel with five varying sized doors built into it. The far most door on the right was taller than me so I assumed that was the refrigerator and the other four doors were freezers. Why one would _need_ four freezers, I had no idea, but I found myself likeing the concept. Now that I had finished taking in the grossly oversized kitchen, I whirled to Jack and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes.

"This. Place. Is. Awesome." I pointed at the refrigerator. "Five bucks says I could fit in there!" Jack's gaze followed my finger and he nodded.

"I think you could," He said. I took another glance around the space. I couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up from my stomach, filled my chest, and bloomed in my throat. It had been a long, long, _long,_ time since I had laughed like that.

"I went from having nothing, to living in this place! This is amazing!" I flung my arms around Jack. It was quite the feat on my part to refrain from crushing his ribs. I was so excited I could hardly contain it. I was bouncing up and down on my toes like a little girl! Though I guess, in the eyes of Jack and the others, that’s sort of what I was.

"I'm glad you like it!" Jack said, grinning.

"I don't like it, Jack. I love it!" I exclaimed. My stomach growled like an angry bear, just being in here was making me hungry. "Hey, as long as we're here, got anything good to eat? I'm starving!" That last bit was nothing new, I was always starving these days, always craving. But I was never craving food. Jack's throat suddenly looked extremely tasty. Thankfully, his voice broke me away from that train of thought.

"I like ice-cream," He said, brightly.

"Jack?”

"Hm?"

"We are gonna be awesome friends."

No, home wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore. But I realized with a start, that for the first time in five years, I had one. A real one.

It looked like I was gonna have to get used to it.

~ _With every small disaster_  
 _I'll let the waters still_  
 _Take me away to someplace real_

_Cause' they say home is where your heart is set in stone_   
_Its where you go when you're alone_   
_Its where you go to rest your bones_   
_Its not just where you lay your head_   
_Its not just where you make your bed_   
_As long as we're together does it matter where we go?~_

_Lyrics from: Home by Jasmine Thompson_

_This is home~_


	14. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hm, friends... I could use one of those... Anybody wanna sign up? The benefits include absolutely nothing.

Chapter Fourteen: Friends

~ _We ate enough ice cream to never want more_  
 _When I need a pick me up,_  
 _you pick me up_  
 _When I wanna cry,_  
 _when my heart is stuck_  
 _You're the first one at my door_

_We'll make dumb mistakes,_   
_but we ain't to blame_   
_'Cause they bring out the best in us_

_Friends, with you 'til the end_   
_Fix you, help you mend,_   
_when it gets tough_   
_And when you're scared,_   
_they're gon' be right there_   
_So hold onto your friends~_

Jack knelt down and opened the door on the bottom left of the freezer/refrigerator combo that I then dubbed 'The Wall of Cold Stuff'. He reached in, grabbed a tub of ice cream, then stood and kicked the door shut.

"The bowls are down there and the spoons are in the top left drawer," He said, pointing to the shelf in the back. I made my way over and grabbed two of each. We both sat at the table, across from each other, and Jack served up the ice cream. I then got the chance to glance at the ice cream's label. It was chocolate-chip-cookie-dough.

"This is my favorite flavor. What's yours?" I asked him, shoveling ice cream into my mouth and moaning as the sugary goodness coated my tongue. Jack must have found that funny because he ducked his head and laughed.

"I don't know. This one is pretty good, but I love the mint and brownie ones as well," He told me. I had noticed that Jack always took great care to think about his answers before he gave them. He took and asked every question seriously. I got the feeling that Jack was the sort of person who's curiosity was never satisfied.

"I can vibe with that," I agreed. Jack's brows furrowed, he placed his spoon down on the table, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Could you explain it?" He asked. I liked the way he behaved when he was curious about something, Jack just dropped everything to learn and focused entirely on whatever it was he was trying to understand. Right now, that thing was me. I found that I didn't mind his undivided attention.

"Oh, um, it means that you agree with something somebody said. Its like saying ' _you're right'_ or ' _I agree with you_ ' or ' _that's cool_ '," I explained. Jack nodded.

"I think I understand." I gave him a thumbs up and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor with a deep sigh.

"You know, it's been five years since I last had ice cream," I said. Jack froze his ice cream eating with his spoon still stuck in his mouth, his expression morphing into one of horror and pity.

"That's awful!" He said, he'd removed the spoon, but his mouth was still full of the dessert, "No one should have to go without ice cream for that long!"

"My friend, you are absolutely right," I replied, pointing my spoon at him. "Here's to ice cream and sugar highs!" I tapped my bowl with the spoon and Jack copied me, albeit somewhat confused as to what I was doing. Speaking of sugar highs, I could already feel one building up already. It had been way too long since I'd had this much sugar.

"Marty?" Jack wanted my attention.

"Hm?"

"I had a dream about you last night," He said, changing the subject. I stared up at him, pulling my spoon out of my mouth.

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"What was I doing in this dream of yours?" I asked, straining to keep the nervousness that was building in my chest out of my voice. Jack frowned, picking at his ice cream.

"You said-- You told me you were dangerous and I shouldn't trust you, that you're hiding something."

I bit my lip, my eyes widening with shock. I struggled to keep calm and natural, my reactions could give me away. Just as I'd settled my expression, Jack looked up. "I can trust you, right?" I smiled as genuinely as I could, which was difficult to do with his gaze piercing into my soul like it was.

"Of course, you can! I may be clever but I'm not exactly diabolical," I said, giving my best laugh. Jack smiled and nodded, though I got the notion that he was reassuring himself more than anything. If he was going to say something else, he never got the chance because at that moment, Sam strolled into the room.

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of us at the table. Our heads snapped up at the same time and we froze. Jack had his spoonful halfway to his mouth and mine was already there. The three of us just stared at each other for a moment but Sam was the first to react.

"Come on guys, really?! It's six A.M.!" He exclaimed. I shrugged, removing the spoon from my mouth and pointing it at him.

"AM, PM. What's the difference? Live a little!" With that comment alone, Sam figured he wouldn't be getting anywhere with me, so he turned to Jack.

"Jack, come on, be an example." Jack glanced at his spoonful of dessert and shoved in in his mouth, quickly.

"Technically," He pointed out, directing his spoon at me, "She's older than me!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"What?"

"This was ** _your_** idea!" Jack shrugged.

"I know, but you agreed. I was just stating a fact," he said. Sam sighed, shaking his head. The two of us turned our attention back to him.

"Jack, throw it away and put the container back in the freezer. If you want ice cream, you can have it at dinner. **_Not_** at six in the morning," He scolded. Jack swallowed his mouthful of ice cream.

"But Sam, look at how happy she is! Marty hasn't had ice cream for five years!" He tried. I nodded vigorously to emphasize the point.

"It's true, Sam. You only live once!" I said, shoving another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth between us.

"Fine. Just this once," He sighed.

"Thanks Sam!" Jack and I grinned.

"Yeah, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, but I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. When he was gone, Jack sighed with relief.

"I take it you do this a lot," I said to him. He looked at the ice cream with a guilty expression.

"I wouldn't say **_a lot_**."

"But often enough for him not to be surprised?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned sheepishly.

"Does he always catch you?" I asked him.

"Every time, yes."

We finished our ice cream and put our dishes in the sink. Then, Jack proceeded to show me the rest of the bunker. Sometimes I would ask about what was in few of the rooms and he would reply with an ' _I don't know_ ' or a few times a rather disturbing ' _You don't want to know_ '. To say that his cryptic warning had no effect on me would be a lie. He spoke the words in a light hearted way that just made me more worried. So, I tried to push any speculations as to the contents of those rooms from my mind but kept step slightly closer to Jack from then on.

He showed me a garage full of a bunch of old-timey cars that I found myself figuratively drooling over, a room full of antique electronic equipment he told me not to touch, an impressive gym with an adjacent shower room, an infirmary, a shooting range that looked like a lot of fun, something they called the 'War Room' which was where the glowy table was, the extensive library, and an alcove with an gigantic telescope that Jack claimed nobody could figure out how to use. According to him, the glowy table in the war room could supposedly track monsters, but the Winchesters weren't sure how to use it. Much to my relief.

Jack also showed me a room where I immediately knew I would be spending most of my time. Jack rather confusedly referred to it as 'The Dean Cave'. I later noticed the paper sign tacked on the back of the door that was labeled with said name. Inside there was a flat screen TV, two recliners, a bar that I'd never use, a foosball table which I would definitely use, a record-playing jukebox that I hoped had some decent tunes, and a shelf full of books. The whole room was lit by these cool red and blue lights that looked to be made out of beer kegs. This was a place I could get used to.

"Jack, I think I found my second favorite room," I said, trailing my fingers along the rim of the foosball table.

"You'll have to ask Dean if you can use the T.V. he and Sam are still trying to figure it out." Jack sat cross-legged on one of the ugly plaid recliners.

"Remind me to help em' with that. I'm tech-y," I replied, walking over to observe the jukebox. I didn't know most of the titles displayed on the devices list of records, but my eyes landed on one that I'd know even if it was written in Chinese. "Oh my gosh! Jack, how do I use this thing?!" I squealed, excitedly. Jack hopped up to help me.

"You turn this knob to select which one you want, then you press this button to start it," He explained. I followed his instructions and watched the machine grab the record and put it on that spinning thing before it dropped the needle. I grinned ear to ear as sweet music filled the air.

**_~Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?_ **   
**_Then we wouldn't have to wait so long_ **   
**_And wouldn't it be nice to live together_ **   
**_In the kind of world where we belong?~_ **

"What's this one called?" Jack asked over the notes.

"Wouldn't it be nice, by The Beach Boys! It's one of my favorites!" I was surprised that it was here considering Dean's bias when it came to music. I smirked and latched on to Jack's wrists, spinning him around. He looked at me with wide eyes. "Dance with me Jack! It's easy!"

~ ** _You know it's gonna make it that much better_**  
 ** _When we can say goodnight and stay together~_**

  
I giggled as Jack did his best to copy whatever moves I made, so keeping hold of his hands, I stuck with a simple halting shoulder-swing dance that was easy enough to learn.

_~ **Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up**  
 **In the morning when the day is new?**  
 **And after having spent the day together**  
 **Hold each other close the whole night through~**_

"You're getting it! Now you twirl me under your arm like this." I showed him what to do, pushing his arm up at the elbow. I taught him the same way my mom had taught me this dance.

~ ** _Happy times together we've been spending_**  
 ** _I wish that every kiss was never ending_**  
 ** _Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~_**

Just for fun, I stood on my tip toes and planted a quick kiss on Jack's cheek. It was a spur of the moment decision most definitely made by my massive sugar intake and ridiculously high serotonin levels. But the look of shock on Jack's face was totally worth it.

~ ** _Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray_**  
 ** _It might come true_**  
 ** _Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do_**  
 ** _Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married)_**  
 ** _And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy)_**  
 ** _Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~_**

I let go of Jack and stepped back a bit, I wanted to know if after five years I could still do it. I moved my right foot back and my left foot to the side and then kicked my right foot out. Then, I switched feet and did the same thing in reverse. Shuffling was something I'd learned in seventh grade on a dare. After that part, I moved on to something a little harder. Shuffling my feet in and out and in and out before taping one toe of my sneakers on the cement floor and spinning around. Then I repeated it. Kicking out then kicking back, toes in toes out. Then I stopped and did Jazz hands.

Jack clapped for me but I just shook my head and grabbed his hands again and danced the way we did before.

~ ** _You know it seems the more we talk about it_**  
 ** _It only makes it worse to live without it_**  
 ** _But let's talk about it_**  
 ** _Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~_**

"Was that tap-dancing?" He asked me.

"Nah, it was just really bad shuffling." I replied over the music.

"I want you to teach me!" He twirled me under his arm. The kid learned fast.

"I'll add it to the list!"

~ ** _Goodnight, my baby_**  
 ** _Sleep tight, my baby_**  
 ** _Goodnight, my baby_**  
 ** _Sleep tight, my baby~_**

When the music was done, I let go of Jack and stepped away. We both wore face splitting grins and giggled like crazy people.

"I take it you two are having fun." My head whipped to the doorway where stood Castiel, the ghost of a smile visible on his otherwise expressionless face. How long had he been watching? Embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I hoped I hadn't looked like an idiot.

"Hey Cas! I don't know about Jack, but I'm having the time of my life!" I said. Then I turned to Jack. "Whattdya' say, buddy? Am I torturing you?"

"I've been tortured before, this isn't anything close to what that was like! Don't worry, Marty. You're a lot of fun." He stated, matter-of-factly. My eyes went wide and I tilted my head at him. I mean, what was I even supposed to say to something like that? I found myself nodding slowly.

"Okay, well, that's the weirdest complement I think I've ever gotten, but I'll take it." Jack grinned at me in his lopsided way and I turned my attention back to the other angel in the room. "Any particular reason for this visit or were ya just passing?"

"Sam asked me to check up on you two," Cas answered.

"Alright. Well, I was just about to ask Jack to help me find my way back to my room."

Cas simply nodded and walked off.

"So, why do you like that song so much?" Jack inquired as we strode back through the endless identical hallways.

"It was in one of my mom's favorite movies so she was always singing it. I love the tune as well and, sometimes when I'm sad, the words make me feel better," I answered. Jack frowned.

"I don't understand song lyrics. They never make sense to me."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Yes." Jack nodded and once again gave me all his attention.

"So, that song is about two young people who feel like they're living their lives stuck in place. There's so much they want to do but everybody says they're just to young to do it. They feel like they've outgrown the stage of life that they're in and they just want to move on. By being stuck where they are, they're afraid they'll miss their opportunity for happiness. So they dream about a day when they'll finally be free to do whatever they want, even if they that day may never come around." My thoughtful tone surprised me.

I hadn't meant to put so much of my own emotion into my explanation of the lyrics. If I kept on like this, the hunters would figure me out in no time. But there was just something about Jack, about the way he listened to my every word, that made me want to tell him everything about everything. I was weak around him. He made me let my guard down. I'd have to learn how to keep it up if I wanted to survive.

"Do you feel stuck sometimes?" Jack asked.

"I used to feel like I was living a loop, like every day was the same. It sucked." I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. "But then four weirdos in an Impala showed up and my life is finally moving again!"

~ _We ate enough ice cream to never want more_  
 _When I need a pick me up,_  
 _you pick me up_  
 _When I wanna cry,_  
 _when my heart is stuck_  
 _You're the first one at my door_

_We'll make dumb mistakes,_   
_but we ain't to blame_   
_'Cause they bring out the best in us_

_Friends, with you 'til the end_  
 _Fix you, help you mend,_  
 _when it gets tough_  
 _And when you're scared,_  
 _they're gon' be right there_  
 _So hold onto your friends_ ~

Lyrics from: Friends by Ella Henderson


	15. Lost Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is SO Long but I'm setting up parallels so its okay.

Chapter Fifteen: Lost Boy

~ _There was a time when_  
 _I was alone_  
 _No where to go and_  
 _no place to call home_  
 _My only friend_  
 _was the man in the moon_  
 _And even sometimes he would_  
 _go away too_  
 _Then one night, as I closed my eyes_  
 _I saw a shadow flying high_  
 _He came to me_  
 _with the sweetest smile_  
 _Told me he wanted to talk for a while_

_He said Peter Pan_   
_that's what they call me_   
_I promise that_   
_you'll never be lonely_   
_And ever since that day_

_I am a Lost Boy from Neverland_   
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_   
_And when we're bored_   
_we play in the Woods_   
_Always on the run from Captain Hook_

_Run run Lost Boy, they say to me_   
_Away from all of reality~_

Jack laughed as we arrived at the door. I pushed it open and skipped into the room, jumping on the bed. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out four outfits of crumpled clothing I'd managed to stuff in there. I found my snow globe and Isaac's Darth Vader and put those on the shelf that hung over my bed. I put my sketch pad on the bed planning to find a place for it later. Jack clambered onto the bed and sat there cross-legged. He gingerly picked up my sketch pad, examining it before flicking his gaze up to me.

"May I?" He asked. I just shrugged and went back to fishing random items from my bag. "These are really good." Jack commented as he flipped through the thick pages.

"They're not my best, but thanks." I spoke absent mindedly, digging around in an effort to locate my pencils.

"They're better than anything I could do." Jack carefully laid the sketchbook down and looked up at me. "You're so talented."

His unexpected complement brought a flushing heat to my cheeks and I had to turn my head away, pretending to focus on folding some of my crumpled clothes.

"Well, um, thank you. That--ah--that's very kind of you." An embarrassed laugh escaped my lips and I mentally kicked myself for sounding so stupid.

"You don't think you are." His words sounded more like a statement than a question.

"I-I don't, uh, I don't know," I stammered, I kept my back to him but I could feel his gaze on me. The intensity of it set my cheeks on fire. Clearly, I wasn't used to being complemented, I told myself. It was the complement itself that was making me blush, not the person doing the complementing. That was it. That was all there was to it. Yes. Right. I finished folding the clothes and shoved them into the top drawer of the dresser.

I then heard the creaking of the bed and footsteps against the polished concrete as Jack got up and moved to stand behind me.

Aw frick.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and I sucked in a breath before spinning around. Looking up, I tilted my head raised my eyebrows in question. I didn't know what I was expecting.

"You should be proud of yourself, Marty." He spoke very seriously, and I knew he believed every word he said as he smiled.

Jack stooped down and wrapped his arms around me, tucking his chin into the crook of my neck. I just stood there stupidly for a moment before hugging him back. There was nothing awkward about the hug, he wasn't trying to pull anything funny and he didn't linger. When he let go he stepped away and sat back on the bed. Jack apparently had gained some confidence since that morning and I seemed to have lost mine. I blamed the sugar high for making me behave stupidly before it wore off, leaving me high and dry in terms of confidence. Being flustered as I was, my self-defense mechanism kicked in and gave me a witty comeback.

"Yeah, well you try being your sole critic for five years, then you can tell me how reliable you think your judgement is." I silently thanked the universe for being on my side for once.

"I don't think I'd want to be alone for that long," Jack said, shaking his head at the thought.

"You're darn right ya don't." I gestured to my forehead. "If you think everything's A-okay up here, you're wrong." Finishing with the backpack I moved to my violin case. I unzipped it and pulled away the Velcro strap that held the instrument in place and removed the violin. Flipping it over in my hands, I inspected it from every angle, looking for any cracks or damage. I was relieved when I found none. I was going to put it away again, but Jack grabbed my wrist to stop me. My eyebrows shot up and I flicked my eyes back and forth from his face to his hand.

"Wait," He said after a few moments.

"Uh, huh." I nodded slowly. "Wait for what exactly?"

"I want to hear you play," He clarified.

"Yea-hea-heck no." I chuckled nervously. Jack tilted his head.

"Why not?" I averted my eyes with a shrug.

"Because I don't wanna make a fool of myself." Jack shook his head.

"You won't make a fool of yourself."

"Riiight." I spoke incredulously. Jack frowned, his brows pulling together.

"I'm serious." He replied, fervently.

"Of course, you are."

"I believe in you."

"Why?" I huffed.

"Because you're amazing at everything you do." My mouth dropped open and my eyebrows hit my hairline.

"I'd say you're kissing up to me, but I don't think you know what that means," I deadpanned. Jack ignored my comment.

"Everything you've done, everything you've shown me, you've been amazing at. You tell stories, you write, you're a great dancer, you can draw--"

"Yup. Jack of all trades, master of zilch- that's me all right."

"I'll bet you can sing too-"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would, actually."

"Too bad, sport."

"You understand what I'm saying," He sighed. I rolled my eyes, wondering why he was so determined to get me to play.

"I will play you **_one_** song. **_Just one_**." I emphasized. Jack grinned and his gaze flickered to something just over my shoulder.

"Looks like we got our seats just in time, Sammy." Dean's voice sounded from behind me. I swung around to face him and Sam leaning on the door frame. Castiel stood just behind them.

How the frick did they keep sneaking up on me?! I had super hearing. Was I really so distracted that I just kept missing them? If so, then I **_really_** needed to get it together.

"Don't mind us, go ahead," Sam gestured to the violin in my hand. I shook my head and turned away.

"Yeah, never mind."

"Aw, come on, Marty. Jack promised us a concert." I looked from Dean to Jack who held up his phone, sheepishly. Apparently, he had sent a text saying that I was going to play something.

"First off, you're a little weasel." I said pointing accusingly at Jack. Then I rounded on Dean. "And second, I thought you were sleeping." He shrugged.

"I was but that was this morning. I woke up. It's like, two-thirty," Dean pointed out. Wow. Time flies I guess.

"Why are you guys so fixed on hearing me play? Do you have nothing better to do?" I asked all four guys. Sam was the one who spoke.

"Humor us, you're new. And honestly, no, we're not exactly busy." I groaned.

"Fine!"

"Yay!" I rolled my eyes at Jack's childish behavior which was befitting as he was actually a child.

"What would you like to hear?" I asked. "No, Dean. I don't know any rock songs." I answered the question before he could ask.

"What about your favorite song?" Sam suggested.

"My favorite song isn't exactly a peppy one."

"Your second favorite then."

I had to think about that.

"Do you guys like Star Wars?" I asked. Jack perked up.

"I love Star Wars!"

I smiled at him.

"You're a smart kid. The Clone Wars was my childhood," I said. He nodded.

"It's the best!"

"Indeed. Have you watched the prequel trilogy?" Jack frowned.

"Not yet."

I shook my head in mock disappointment.

"You know, some would consider that a crime, Jack. But I'll let it go for now."

"We've seen the prequels." Dean spoke up. I grinned at him.

"Oh good, because I can only play one Star Wars song that actually sounds decent," I said, raising my instrument to my chin.

"Which one?" Sam asked.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, but really just gentlemen, I present to you: Across the Stars-- by the man, the myth, the legend, John Williams!" I announced.

I took a breath and moved into position. Summoning the notes to my mind, I let them flow from my fingers as I drew my bow across the strings. Music filled the air as played my violin for the first time in years. I had neglected my music for so long. When the song came to it's close I lowered the instrument and gave a tiny bow. Then I put my instrument away, sliding it into the corner of my room before turning around.

"Nice!" Dean said, giving me a fist bump. "That was awesome. I'm gonna go get started on something to eat cause' I'm friggin starving." Then he turned an left the room.

"That was very good, Marty. You're, uh, very talented."

"Thanks Sam."

He nodded and gave me a thumbs up before following his brother.

"If you keep working at it, you could grow up to have quite the career someday," Castiel said before he too left the room.

My heart sank with the weight of his encouraging words. Of what those words meant for me.

He was wrong. He didn't know it, but he was wrong. Sure, I had talent. Sure, I had promise, but that didn't matter. Because I was missing one crucial thing.

My chance.

It had been taken from me. My chance had been stolen. My chance to have a career, my chance to show the world what I could do, my chance for my name to be known, my chance at succseding, my chance at finding happiness, my chance to realize my dreams, my chance at freedom, my chance at love. My chance to live.

My every chance had been stolen. Swiped away. Never to be reobtained. My chance wasn't mine anymore.

I was stuck in this moment forever, I realized. Nothing had changed. Living here with these hunters wouldn't fix anything because the thing that needed fixing was unfixable. It was permanent and eternal and it would never be undone, and the _only_ potential I had left was for a life full of this disappointment forever. That's all there was to it. What was the point of being happy now if I was just going to be sad later?

My world was Neverland. I would _never_ get old. I would _never_ die. I would _never_ change. I would _never_ fall in love. I would _never_ fulfill my dreams. I would _never_ find happiness. I would _never_ have a family or children of my own. I would _never_ find the person that would make me complete. I would be stuck, trapped in my own body forever, frozen at age fourteen.

I could _never_ grow up.

I may have been alive, but I wasn't living. This was a different sort of death because it wasn't mine yet it belonged to me. It was the death of my life. It was the death of all the things that might have been; the things that _should_ have been, the things that _I_ could have been.

In love.

Happy.

At peace.

It was _all gone._

My life was Neverland, and I had _no_ pixi-dust to help me fly away.

"Marty, are you okay?" Jack's voice startled me from my reverie.

"Me? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." If fine meant drowning in the inevitability of my circumstance, then I was doing great. Why had I come with these hunters? What good would it do?

None. It would do nothing.

"You looked upset just now," Jack observed, his words threaded with genuine concern.

"Did I?" Jack nodded. "Well, I'm fine."

I moved to the dresser and retrieved a pair of clothes. Maybe a shower would help me feel just a bit better. I turned to go but stopped. Jack remained sitting on my bed.

"You're still here," I pointed out. Jack glanced around the room, as if to verify my statement, and nodded.

"I am, yes."

I blinked, raising my eyebrows.

"Why?" I asked, circling my hand in the widely accepted gesture for 'elaborate'.

"I just wanted to say thank you." Jack gave me his lopsided smile and I sighed, smiling a little myself.

"For what?"

"For playing me a song," he explained, "I know it made you uncomfortable."

"Eh, its fine." I shrugged. "I still don't understand why it was so necessary though."

"Well, I've heard instruments played in movies and recordings but, until today, I'd never experienced it in real life." His explanation made me grimace.

"Oh geez. Well in that case, I'm sorry!"

He tilted his head.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry my music is the first you had to hear!" Jack laughed.

"Well I wouldn't have wanted it any other way," He said, his voice genuine. My cheeks heated and I had no idea what to say to that.

"You're just trying to get on my good-side, aren't you?" I smirked, trying to be smooth about it. Jack frowned and his brow furrowed.

"No! I'm being honest." His words sounded as if I was accusing him of something.

"Sure you are," I spoke seriously in an attempt to tease him, "I'm gonna go now." Jack looked like he wanted to say more but I was gone before he could.

Luckily for me, I remembered the way to the shower room. When I turned on the water, letting the heat flow over my back, I discovered something.

The water pressure in this place was heavenly. It had been _way_ too long since I'd had a proper shower. For the last five years, I had been showering in the gym of the high-school closest to Copper Harbor. Nobody had ever thought anything of one extra girl in the locker room.

But there were drawbacks to having a nice shower. Drawbacks such as shower thoughts. That day my shower thoughts consisted mostly of reasons why I would never be happy. My shower was three hours long and I spent about an hour of that time crying. When I got out, however, I felt much better. It really does help to get it all out.

When I got out of the shower my hair probably weighed a good five pounds on its own and I've never learned how to make that towel-hat thing women do on tv, so I just left my sopping hair down. I knew it was going to be a nightmare when it dried but I wasn't really trying to impress anybody so I didn't care. If I was going to live here than everyone was just going to have to get used to me the way I was. Nightmare hair and all.

I toweled myself off only to the absolute minimum necessary to get my pants on, pulled on my shirt and slung the towel around my shoulders so my hair wouldn't soak through my clothes. Then I left the shower room and padded down the hallways, completely barefoot, on my way back to my room.

The door to Jack's room was open and I paused before crossing the doorway to get to mine. I peeked inside, his hair was wet, so I guessed there must have been another shower room somewhere in this joint. He was pulling a shirt on and I wasn't going to complain about what I saw. I also was never going to tell him that I saw it. I would thank the universe for the small peak it gave me and say no more about the matter. What really sucks that I was stuck in that accursed child body and could never be anything more than a sister to him. Nevertheless, I would appreciate what I could.

While his back was turned, I scurried across the doorway and flung open my door. Rushing in, I carefully and silently locked the door behind me. I knew if Jack saw me he'd want to say something and I just wasn't feeling it right then. I didn't dislike Jack and he didn't annoy me, I just didn't have the will to talk to him right then as I was still rather blue. So, I sat at my desk and sketched for a while until the knock came at my door.

"Dinners ready!" Dean's voice called from the other side. "Hope you like burgers."

I didn't, actually, but I'd eat a few hundred if they'd help to stave off the aching hunger that felt like my stomach was being wrung out like a towel.

"Okie dokie smokie bloky!" I unlocked the door and grinned at Dean who returned it.

"I've always liked 'Okie Dokie' but you just made it better," he said, moving to Jack's door.

"Jack it's--" He didn't finish his sentence as Jack's door flew open at nearly the speed of sound.

"I'm ready!" Jack just stood there, as if waiting for permission. Dean raised his eyebrows at his behavior but chose not to comment, shrugging instead. As we made our way back to the kitchen, I flicked my eyes to Jack who had his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. I nudged him with my elbow and he promptly looked down at me with his eyebrows raised.

"What's got you all perky?" I asked with a smirk. He simply shrugged.

"I like eating." Was all he said. I threw my head back and laughed.

"Jack, I think you're my soul-mate!" I announced. In front of us, Dean spun on his heel and jabbed his finger at me.

"No!" He said, firmly. I raised my hands in defense.

"Geez dude, I'm joking," I said. Dean folded his arms.

"Are you?" He narrowed his eyes at me. I leaned away from him flicking my eyes from Jack to Dean and back again.

"Yes?" I drew out the word slowly. "I'm fourteen, Dean. Gross!"

Dean shrugged.

"Yeah, well you're also at that age where I can't tell if you're joking or not."

"Okay, but I **_am_** kidding. Jack's like my older brother, just less mean," I told him, clarifying.

"You'd say something like that to your brother?" Dean asked me, sounding somewhat disturbed.

"Oh, yeah. Totally." I nodded. "I've said worse to my actual older brother. In fact there was this one time, it was really funny, I kissed him." I chuckled at the memory. Dean looked very frightened.

"This isn't helping your case. Where'd you grow up, Alabama?!"

"Florida, actually."

"You realize how that's not better, right?"

"Yeah," I said, shrugging, "But anyway, it was an accident, I went to give him a kiss on the cheek but then he turned." Dean blinked, shaking his head, but got moving again. I knew if Isaac were around he'd be rolling on the floor, laughing his face off.

When we got to the kitchen, there were four places set and I immediately wondered who we were missing. Sam was already sitting there and Jack was behind me.

"Where's Cas?" I wondered.

"He doesn't eat but he'll be here in a bit," Sam said from the table.

Dean slid onto his seat and grabbed at the burger sitting there, instantly shoving it in his face. It was gone within 28.98 seconds, at least according to Jack who apparently counted. The fact that he could count the decimal was sort of disturbing, but I didn't say anything. I picked up my burger and started munching, Dean's cooking certainly wasn't bad which surprised me.

"This is really good, Dean," I complemented him. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up, his mouth full of his second burger.

"Do you cook?" Jack asked me. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Why? Cause' I'm a woman?" I challenged. Jack's eyes widened like quarters.

"N-no! I-I didn't mean-" He struggled to explain.

"I'm kidding, mate!" I chuckled, "But no, I don't cook. My mom tried to teach me once but I caught the toast on fire and nobody really let me in the kitchen after that." Jack snorted a laugh.

"Wait, you caught _toast_ on fire?" Sam asked, clarifying.

"Yup."

" _How?_ "

"I have absolutely no idea." I shrugged.

"Okay, you're not allowed to cook." Dean declared, swallowing and jabbing his finger at me.

"That's probably wise," I agreed, "Anyhow, enough about me, I wanna know more about you guys."

"What do you, uh, what do you wanna know?" Sam asked. I smirked.

"What's your favorite word? We'll go around, Dean you go first."

Dean looked up.

"Uh, Toledo. I don't know, it's just kinda fun to say," He answered before refocusing on his food. I nodded.

"Sam?"

"Narcoleptic." He nodded, firmly.

"Narcoleptic, interesting. Jack?" Jack's face scrunched up as he thought.

"Lightsaber," He decided. Castiel entered the room then.

"What are we talking about?" He asked, sitting down beside Dean.

"Marty asked us what our favorite words are. You got one?― Uh, in-in English," Sam said. Cas's face did something similar to Jack's and I assumed Jack had learned it from him.

"I've always enjoyed the auditory-tactile synesthesia of the word 'mucus', it makes me smile sometimes," Castiel replied after a moment, "What is your favorite word?"

"Interstellar. Not because of the movie, I just think it's a pretty word."

"I like that one too!" Jack said. I nodded to acknowledge him.

"Kay' next question. Favorite ride at Disney World or Land, go!"

"Mad Hatter's Tea Cups, makes ya sick every time," Dean said.

"It's called Mad Tea Party, Dean." Sam corrected his brother. "And, uh, mine is Pirates of the Caribbean."

"I love those two! What about you, Jack?" I asked. Jack frowned, shaking his head.

"I've never been," He said, somewhat sadly. I patted his arm in reassurance.

"We'll have to fix that. Cas, what about you?"

"I haven't been either," The angel shrugged.

"What about you, Marty?" Dean asked. I chuckled a bit.

"Well, you guys are probably gonna stab me for this but I was raised in Florida, so we went all the time and I gotta go with The Haunted Mansion." I held my hands up in defense.

"Oh boo!" Dean groaned. "That's so boring!"

"That's the one everybody says!" Sam agreed. I jabbed a finger at the both of them.

"Watch your mouths, that ride is a classic! I think it _might_ even be older than you, have some respect!" I demanded. Jack doubled over with laughter, slapping his knee. I wondered for a moment which of the other three he'd picked it up from.

"Excuse me? Did you just call us old?" Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Just stating facts, Dean!" I replied with a shrug, leaning back on my stool. "I mean, you're what? A hundred?"

"You better watch what you say, missy." Dean shook his finger teasingly.

"Or what, grandpa?" I challenged.

"Or this!"

From his jacket pocket, Dean whipped out a tiny Nerf pistol. My eyes went wide and Dean smirked, an evil gleam in his eyes. He squeezed the trigger. Dean was fast, but I was faster. He didn't know I had experience in this arena.

Crossing my ankles over each other and my arms over my chest, I threw my weight back, letting my knees buckle, and slid smoothly under the table. A fraction of a second later, I heard the tiny gun's pop as it fired.

**THWACK!**

"Ouch!" Jack exclaimed as he rubbed his fingertips against his temple where the foam dart had smacked him.

"HA!" I poked my head out from beneath the table. "Ya missed!"

"That can be fixed," Dean chuckled, reaching inside his jacket to reload the tiny pistol.

I scrambled out from under the table and ducked behind Jack who quickly threw his hands up to protect his face. Dean leaned around my human, or rather half-human shield, and fired. I twisted away just in time. He missed my shoulder by only a hairsbreadth. While he reloaded, I scurried from the room and out the door, ducking behind the corner to use it as cover. Dean shot at me but the dart curved right and went wide.

"Stinkin' darts! They're so inaccurate!" He complained.

"Where did you get that?" I heard Sam ask.

"Wal-Mart," Dean answered, "I bought a bunch of em' and hid em' round' the bunker. I was saving em' for April fools but this seemed more important."

After a second, I peaked my head out only to have a dart whiz by my ear.

"Ya done yet?!" I called to him.

"Yeah, that was my last one."

I sighed and moved from my cover.

"No! Marty, it's not his last―" Jack's warning came too late.

Dean's grin sparkled with something insane as he fired. His shot hit me square in the chest. I looked down and frowned as the foam dart dropped to the floor. Then I turned my gaze up to Dean.

"You know what this means, don't you, Dean Winchester." I glared at him. "This. Means. **_War_**."

"Bring it on, shrimpy!" Dean challenged. I put my hands on my hips.

"You're gonna regret that invitation."

"Am I?"

"Tomorrow. Just wait and see." I turned to Jack. "Jack, are you with me?" He grinned.

"I'm in!"

Dean frowned.

"Hey! No teams!" He protested. I smirked and shrugged.

"It's only fair! I'm a shrimp, I deserve a handicap!" I defended. Dean frowned and looked to Sam who raised his hands.

"Yeah, no. I'm staying out of this." He chuckled, breathily. Dean turned to Cas who shook his head.

"I'm with Sam. You made your bed, Dean. Go lay in it."

"Lotta' help you guys are." Dean huffed and turned back to me. "Fine, looks like I'm takin' you both down." I nodded.

"Tonight, we prep for battle. On the morrow' we go to war!" I proclaimed dramatically. I turned on my heel and waved for Jack to follow me back to my room and moments later I heard him padding along behind me. Jack sat on my bed and I closed the door to my room before I went to sit beside him.

"I've never been part of a Nerf War before. How do you play?" He asked me.

"Well in this case, Dean has hidden all the guns, so first we have to find some. Then, we sneak around and shoot him with em' until he surrenders while he tries to do the same thing to us," I explained. Jack frowned, shaking his head.

"I don't think we can beat Dean, not if he knows where all the guns are."

"That’s why I needed a teammate." I smirked. "Earlier, you said something about not sleeping much, right?"

Jack nodded.

"I can only sleep every few nights."

I grinned.

"Well, then tonight, while I'm asleep, I need you to go and look for some weapons. Then we can grab em' in the morning."

Jack returned my mischievous smile.

"I can do that."

"Awesome. Now, we need to discuss battle strategy."

We just sat there and talked for a while. Laughing and joking and exchanging stories. I told him about the Nerf wars my family used to have and how crazy they could get. Then he told me about some real battle strategies he learned while he was stuck in another dimension that had suffered an apocalypse. I wanted to ask him to tell me more but he got this haunted look on his face that I didn't like seeing. It didn't belong there. It didn't belong on somebody so young.

Then suddenly, as we were talking and I saw that haunted look in Jack's eyes, I realized something.

I realized he was lost.

Just like me.

I realized they were all lost, and so was I, and in that I'd found something.

I'd found a family. Or they had found me. Jack had found me and brought me to this family. Suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore.

Now, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it for long, I realized that I could have it. Even if only for a moment. Even if only for _this_ moment, I could have it. I could be happy here. If only just for a little while, I could have happiness. It didn't have to be permanent for it to be real and sure, maybe it wasn't the sort of happiness I'd always wanted, but it was happiness. And it was real and it was here nonetheless. And for that moment, I decided, it was enough. It was perfect. A crooked kind of perfect, yes, but it was perfect for me and that’s what mattered.

So, what was the point of being happy now if I was just going to be sad later?

I'd found the answer to my earlier question.

The point was, of course, because I was going to be sad later.

If my life was Neverland then they could be my Lost Boys.

~ _There was a time when I was alone_  
 _No where to go and_  
 _no place to call home_  
 _My only friend was_  
 _the man in the moon_  
 _And even sometimes_  
 _he would go away too_  
 _Then one night, as I closed my eyes_  
 _I saw a shadow flying high_  
 _He came to me with the sweetest smile_  
 _Told me he wanted to talk for a while_

_He said_   
_Peter Pan that's what they call me_   
_I promise that you'll never be lonely_   
_And ever since that day_

_I am a Lost Boy from Neverland_   
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_   
_And when we're bored we play in the Woods_   
_Always on the run from Captain Hook_

_Run run Lost Boy, they say to me_   
_Away from all of reality_   
_Neverland is home to lost boys like me_   
_And lost boys like me are free_   
_Neverland is home to lost boys like me_   
_And lost boys like me are free_

_He sprinkled me in pixie dust and_   
_told me to believe_   
_Believe in him and believe in me_   
_Together we will_   
_fly away in a cloud of green_   
_To your beautiful destiny_   
_As we soared above the town that never loved me_   
_I realized I finally had a family_   
_Soon enough we reached Neverland_   
_Peacefully my feet hit the sand and ever since that day..._

_I am a Lost Boy from Neverland_   
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan_   
_And when we're bored_   
_we play in the Woods_   
_Always on the run from Captain Hook_

_Run run Lost Boy, they say to me_   
_Away from all of reality_   
_Neverland is home to Lost Boys like me_   
_And Lost Boys like me are free_   
_Neverland is home to Lost Boys like me_   
_And Lost Boys like me are free~_

_Lyrics from: Lost Boy by Ruth B_


	16. Count On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's gonna leave a mark.

Chapter Sixteen: Count on Me

_~If you tossin' and you're turnin' and you just can't fall asleep_   
_I'll sing a song beside you_   
_And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me_   
_Every day I will remind you, oh_

_We'll find out what we're made of_   
_When we are called to help our friends in need_

_You can count on me like one, two, three_   
_I'll be there_   
_And I know when I need it, I can count on you like four, three, two_   
_And you'll be there_   
_'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh, yeah~_

  
The screaming caught Jack's attention rather quickly.

Each high pitch, blood curdling, cry echoed and reverberated through the long, deserted halls of the bunker. The stone and tile building materials amplified the screams as they ripped, one after the other, through the night-time silence. Though it was late only one person in the bunker was sleeping. Dean was watching a movie in his room, Sam was reading, and Castiel was helping Jack in his search for Nerf guns.

Marty was the only person asleep.

Marty was screaming.

Jack's eyes were wide with panic as he looked at Castiel before sprinting off down the halls, Cas right behind him. When Jack arrived at Marty's door he was met with Sam and Dean who stood there, guns in hand, ready for a fight. Another scream tore through the air, emanating from behind the door. Dean nodded to Sam before opening the door and rushing in, pistol raised. Jack and Castiel filed in behind them. What Jack saw inside the room, slashed at his heart.

Marty lay curled on her bed, thrashing in a tangled mess of sheets. She was shaking uncontrollably, her face and pillow stained with tears. Jack felt rooted to the spot, he wanted to do something, anything, but he was too shocked to move. Another shriek ripped from the girl's throat and seizures racked her tiny body as she gasped, her hands clutching at the blankets and at her clothing. This time, words accompanied her cries.

"HELP ME SOMBODY!" She screeched in desperation. "IT HURTS! PLEASE IT HURTS! SOMEBODY HELP ME PLEASE!!!" Her voice was strangled and grating. It seemed too loud to be coming from someone so small and frail. Dean was the first to recover from his shock.

"Cas!" He called out. Castiel nodded sharply and stepped forward to obey Dean's unspoken command. The angel reached out and placed a hand on the writhing girl's forehead.

Marty's eyes snapped open and she bolted upright. Her jet-black hair frizzed out around her head like dark halo. The sinister purple rings beneath her wild, vulnerable, gray eyes, looked like bruises; given to Marty by a dream that wasn't quite finished with her yet. Those eyes flicked around the room seemingly unable to focus on anyone or anything. Dean and Sam tucked their guns out of sight and slowly approached her.

"Marty? What is it? W-what happened?" Sam spoke softly and gently, keeping his hands raised where she could see them. But Marty didn't look at Sam, she looked straight at Dean, her steel gray eyes wide and glassy. They looked unfocused in a strange way, like they were looking through or behind Dean rather than at him. They looked almost... Blind?

"He's _here_! He's here and he's gonna kill me!" She whispered, her voice hoarse. Her breathing shook and she was hyperventilating. Dean's brow furrowed with concern.

"Who? Marty, who is here?" He asked. Marty shook her head, her eyes straying, losing their focus.

"No," She whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. "NO!" Marty screamed again and clutched at her skull. "IT HURTS! SOMEBODY MAKE IT STOP! IT HURTS! SOMEBODY PLEASE!" Sam and Dean stood up, covering their ears and backing away.

"What's happening?!" Jack shouted over her.

"I don't know!" Sam yelled back. Just then, the screaming stopped. Marty's hands dropped to her sides and she fixed her gaze on Jack. She stared at him for a moment, tilting her head, her attention singularly focused.

"Ja-ack … Ja-aa-ack?" She called in a childish, sing-song sort of way. Her voice was soft and haunting and vulnerable. Marty had never sounded like that before as she looked at him with those unseeing eyes. He stepped forward slowly and carefully.

"Marty?" He stepped a little closer. Sam reached out, as if to warn him.

"Careful, Jack." He whispered. Jack stopped.

"Jack? Is that you? Where are you?" She sounded so much younger, like a nine-year old. Jack wondered why she was asking, couldn't she see him? Her eyes seemed to flicker into focus and she smiled, like she saw him for a moment. That moment quickly ended, and she whimpered before reaching out to touch him. Jack grasped her hand and she seemed to relax the tiniest bit.

"It's me, Marty. I'm here," He assured her.

"Jack, I-I want--I" Marty clamped her eyes shut again and let go of Jack's hand. "No! No, stop it!" She rolled over and tumbled out of her bed, hitting the floor. She struggled to stand, keeping her hands pressed against her temples, and staggered to the right. She blinked her unseeing eyes open and stared at Jack blindly for a few more seconds. Then she tore her eyes away and fled the room, her bare feet tapping down the hall.

The four men looked to each other in confusion after she had left. As before, Dean recovered his wits first.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" He demanded in alarm. Castiel shook his head slowly.

"I have no idea."

"Well, whatever it was, we can figure it out later, " Sam interjected, "We need to find Marty. Now!"

"Where'd she go?" Jack asked.

"Well, she's scared. What do you do when you're a kid and you're scared?" Sam wondered aloud.

"You hide," Dean answered.

"Exactly! But where do you hide?"

"Somewhere you feel safe."

"Dean, she just got here where would she feel safe?"

Dean shrugged.

"I dunno. Someplace small and dark?" What he said seemed to dawn on him and he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Which, in a place this big, could be anywhere. She could be hiding anywhere."

"No... not anywhere," The idea hit Jack's brain like a bolt of lightning, "I think I know where she is!" Jack raced out of Marty's room and down the hall where he wrenched open the kitchen door and ran inside. Sam looked to Dean who shrugged before taking off after Jack. Cas followed Dean and Sam followed Cas.

The intrepid trio caught up with their Nephilim and were surprised to see him standing in the doorway to the library having gone through the kitchen, down another hall, and through the war room to get there. Why was he just standing there? What was the boy waiting for?

"Jack, where's--"

Jack cut Sam off, pointing to the telescope in the alcove at the back of the library.

"She's behind there." His voice was low and hesitant. The expression in his face was grim.

"How'd you know?" Sam asked.

"Marty like's stars," Jack answered simply.

"Good work, Jack," Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes.

"What are we waiting for? Library cards? Let's go."

Jack opened his mouth.

"Dean, wait―"

Dean stepped into the library and felt it immediately. The unnatural chill. It swept across his skin and clung to his clothes. It made his breath turn to fog in front of him.

"What the―" His voice trailed off as he strained his eyes to look for the ghost.

"Dean, look." Jack pointed at the alcove.

A figure stood there, translucent and pale, towering over the girl who sat cowering at the telescope’s base. The lines that made up its form blurred in and out of focus. It stood with its back to them as if they were unimportant. If he wasn't looking directly at it the ghost seemed to disappear. Every time Jack blinked his eyes had to search it out again.

"C'mon, Sammy. Jack, you stay behind us," Dean ordered. Jack nodded and as the two hunters advanced, he crept up with them. Cas took to Dean's other side without an order.

"You think it's haunting her?" Sam asked in a whisper.

"We'll she did say, ' _he's here_ '. Only one way to find out, I guess," Dean replied. They'd reached the center of the room a fair distance between them and the telescope. Enough of a gap to be able to distract the ghost and get Marty to safety.

"Hey! PJ shorts!" Dean taunted the ghost. In Dean's defense, the ghost was, in fact, wearing PJ shorts.

The astral figure turned, its form flickering in and out of view. The ghost had curly auburn hair that was just a few inches from being too long. He was handsome in a boyish sort of way, or at least he would have been. The deep purple shadows under his eyes and his ashen skin made that past statement inaccurate. He looked to be around the age of eighteen and his hazel eyes seemed hollow yet full of malice. He was as tall as Dean and skinny like Sam but his defining trait, physically, was the massive wound that looked like a chunk of flesh had been bitten out of his neck. There was a distinct familiarity about him that Jack just could not place.

"That's quite something coming from a guy who sleeps in a night-gown." The boy spoke in a fluid way that teetered on the edge of mischievous. Jack wondered how the ghost could know something like that as it was only a recent thing.

"I'm not going to apologize for that. Not to you, not to anyone."

"Well, you should cause' it's sad," The ghost grimaced.

"It's not sad, it's comfortable."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's just sad."

"What are you doing to the girl?" Dean demanded, getting to the point. The ghost glanced down to the shuddering girl at his feet. Was it Jack's imagination or was that regret that twisted the ghost's ashen face.

"I'm not doing anything to her," The ghost answered, quietly.

"Right, and she's just whimpering and screaming cause' it’s fun," Dean said. The ghost growled and a book flew from one of the shelves, smacking Dean on the head.

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully," The ghost sneered, "Marty wanted to come with you, I disagreed. I said it was a bad idea, I said she didn't need you. I was wrong. I thought her nightmares were getting better, but they're just getting worse and I'm useless cause' I can't _do anything to help her._ Now you are going to _fix_ her, and you are going to **_kill_** the monster that did this. Understand?"

With a start, Jack realized what was so familiar about the ghost boy.

"You're the ghost in the video!" He spoke up.

The ghost smirked, it's gaze drifting away from Dean to examine the boy addressing him. The eyes of the ghost regarded Jack with a cruel and calculating sort of curiosity that the Nephilim found unnerving. The boy found himself shuffling back a step. The ghost's smirk broadened. There was something odd about that smirk, the way it was situated with the planes of his face, that seemed vaguely familiar to Jack. It distinctly reminded him of something. No, not something. **_Someone_** _._ The only question was who? The ghost raised an eyebrow as he finished studying Jack.

"You're a cleaver little **_freak_** _,_ aren't you?" The ghost jeered. "No wonder she likes you. My sister just _loves_ clever boys."

Jack blinked, stunned. His brows pulled together as he pieced together the meaning of the ghost's statement.

"Wait, s-si-sister?" Sam stuttered. The ghost didn't turn to address him. Instead, he held a finger to his lips and kept his eyes fixed on Jack.

"Shhhh..." The ghost breathed, "Clever boy is figuring it out. Can you see it, Jack?"

The syllables of the ghost's words sounded blurred around the edges, muffled; like how a voice sounds when coming from behind a door or when heard from a dream. The ethereal quality was chilling as the ghost whispered his words. Jack didn't like that the ghost knew his name, but he didn't focus on that. He focused on the phantom boy's question. The ghost wanted Jack to figure out the truth on his own, only then would the others believe it.

"Marty, she said she had an older brother and that her family was killed by vampires," Jack said, wearily. He narrowed his eyes at the ghost who's mouth twitched up with a sly, almost amused smile.

"That's right, keep going."

"And that's a vampire bite on-on your neck..."

The ghost nodded.

"So, that's how you died?" Jack inferred.

"Yes. What else do you see?" The ghost encouraged.

"You're not... hurting her?"

"I'm not," The ghost confirmed. This confused Jack.

"She said, _' He's here_' but you..." Jack's voice trailed off for a moment. Then realization dawned on his face.

"I'm not the thing Marty's afraid of."

"No, you're not. You're her brother!" Now Jack understood why he seemed so familiar, the two siblings looked quite a bit alike if you ignored the hair color and the fact that one of them was dead.

"My name is Isaac," The ghost said. Jack kept going.

"You want us to help her. _You_ want to help her, but you can't..." Isaac looked down at his whimpering and cowering little sister, mournful desperation showing on his face. Couldn't he at least talk to her? If the hunters could see and hear him, why couldn't she?

"She can't see me," Isaac sighed, "Or you, or anything. I'm not even sure she can hear us, she's pretty dissociated."

"Why can't she see us?" Dean asked, speaking up. Isaac shook his head, sadly.

"It's something she does when she's overwhelmed. I guess her brain just reverts to what it's used to, so it shuts her vision off.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'reverts to what it's used to'?" Sam interjected.

"My sister was born blind, when she got her sight it was a miracle-- just the wrong kind. The first thing her eyes ever saw was the slaughter of her family," Isaac answered in a whisper. That must have been the reason for Marty's milky-grey eye color. Dean scoffed.

"No way, what kind of vamp could do that?" Isaac looked Dean straight in the eyes, glaring.

"One with a witch on his side," Isaac said, his tone sharp. Sam held up his hands for peace.

"Okay, uh, Isaac, if Marty--if she can't see us and we don't know if she can hear us, how do we, uh, how do we help her?" Sam asked. Isaac shrugged.

"Somehow you're gonna have to convince her you're not Felix. After that, I'm told hugs work wonders on traumatized people."

"Who's Felix?" Cas spoke up.

"Felix is the name of the sadist that killed me and did _this_ to my sister," Isaac answered.

"Okay, I think I got this," Dean said, starting to move toward Marty.

" _You?_ " Isaac scoffed.

"Yeah," Dean smirked, "Chicks dig me. If she screams, Jack is next."

Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot as he watched Dean inch closer to the shaking form that was Marty. Dean knelt to her eye level, but she just stared straight ahead, unseeingly. She rocked back and forth with her knees curled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around herself.

"Marty? Can you hear me? It's Dean," He spoke softly. There was no reply. No reaction at all. Dean reached out and tapped Marty's knee twice.

"No!" She sobbed, hiding her face and pulling herself in a tighter ball.

"Okay, how bout' this." Dean took her hand, holding it by the wrist. This made Marty yelp and cringe away, but she didn't fight, she just cowered. Dean gently urged her to open her palm and she complied but her shaking grew more intense. Then, using his finger, he started spelling out letters on her palm.

H-E-Y

Then he paused and put his fist in her hand. It was supposed to be a space, Jack realized.

T-H-I-S _ I-S _ D-E-A-N

Marty's shuddering paused and Dean took that as a sign to keep going.

I-T-S _ O-K _ I-M _ H-E-R-E

Marty grasped Dean's hand and looked up.

"Dean?" She whispered.

"Marty? Can you hear me now?" He asked. She nodded and took a gasping breath before launching herself at him. Flinging her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his shoulder and just cried. For a moment, Dean was shocked but when he recovered he adjusted himself so he could rub Marty's back as she sat on his lap. His other hand he ran through her hair slowly and repetitively.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay," Dean said, quietly.

"I'm so-r-ry!" She sobbed; it was a heart-breaking sound.

"It's okay, Marty. You got nothing to be sorry for," He assured her.

"I'm messing up your leather jacket," She sniffed. Dean chuckled.

"Believe me when I say this thing's been though stuff a whole lot worse than a little salt water."

"I'm sorry I'm being such a stupid cry-baby," Marty choked out. In that moment it dawned on Dean that, for all her confidence and smart-alec remarks, Marty was just a kid.

Just a terrified little girl who fought the monsters around her as best she could but who just couldn't get the shadows out of her head. There wasn't much you could do when the monster was you. Dean knew that better than anybody and his heart hurt and burned for the tiny girl in his arms. It hurt because he knew how she felt, so scared of the things lurking in the dark. He'd had to grow up the same way she had been for the last five years, but at least he'd had his dad. Little Marty hadn't had anyone. He could see her; she would have been just nine years old when she'd had her family slaughtered before her eyes. Just a little girl with nowhere to go, no place to call home, and nobody to keep her safe. The thought made his heart burn, she shouldn’t’ve had to go through that. No child should. He pulled away from Marty and looked her in the face. She looked down, wiping at her eyes. Dean tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

"You listen to me, Marty," He said, his voice was serious but still gentle, "You're not stupid, you're not a cry baby, and you're not weak. You survived for years all by yourself. That makes you one of the strongest, and one of the cleverest people I know, but you know what?"

"What?"

"All of those people, the strongest and the cleverest, they have nightmares too."

"All of them?" She asked, disbelievingly.

"All of em', even me. Ask Sam and Jack, they have em' too," Dean said, nodding.

"Really?" Marty flicked her eyes to Jack and Sam who both nodded. Her sight must have returned. She turned back to Dean.

"Having a nightmare doesn't make you a cry-baby, it makes you human, Marty." Dean hugged the tiny girl again. "You're amazing sweetheart, don't ever doubt that."

She kept crying but that didn't bother him. Though through it all, Dean briefly wondered how a girl like her could have survived for so long with a vampire hunting her.

' _Must be a clever little thing, but I guess having Casper for a brother might help_.' Dean thought, glancing up at Isaac who's ghostly form was beginning to waver more and more. His worry for his sister must have been what was allowing him to appear, but now he was calming down and his form was losing its strength. Dean nodded at the ghost before mouthing the words: ' _She'll be okay'._ The ghost nodded back and vanished into thin air. Sam and Jack now moved to sit on ether side of where Marty sat on Dean's lap. Jack couldn't think of much he could do, so he just sat there and felt useless.

"Do you, uh, do you wanna talk about it? M-marty?" Sam asked. Dean shot his brother a glare that said ' _If she starts screaming again then its your problem_ '.

"He-he was here. He was here and he killed you, all of you!" Marty whimpered.

"Oh." Sam frowned. He had never been good at comforting frightened children.

"I don't wanna lose you! I just got you! I can't lose you just yet!" She cried.

"You're not gonna lose us. Ain't no vamp has ever gotten the best o' me or my brother," Dean said.

"Well, uh, technically-" Sam started to correct him but Dean sent him a look that shut down that train of thought real fast.

"You don't even have to worry about Jack, the kid's practically invincible, and Cas-- well let's just say that if a vamp killed Cas we should all start lookin' for flying pigs." Dean's comment won a tiny laugh from Marty that was half chuckle and half sniffle.

"You good to talk?" Dean asked, looking at her again. Marty nodded and moved off of Dean's lap but he kept an arm around her and she held tight to his hand. "So, we met your brother."

"You did?" Marty's eyes were wide and her voice was apprehensive. Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, he's dead, kind of a butt, bout' yea high."

Marty rolled her eyes.

"Yep, that's Isaac," She croaked, her voice still hoarse from crying, "Whatever he said, I apologize for in his stead."

"Eh, I've been called worse. So, what's the story there? Why isn't he, ya know, in heaven?"

"My brother made me a promise, he said he wouldn't go to heaven till' he could take me with him. So he's staying." Marty smiled sadly and Sam sent Dean a worried look. They'd have to take care of that later. But for now, Dean yawned.

"Well, I'm just about beat. You okay to go to bed or do you wanna stay up with Jack and Cas?" He asked her.

"I don't think I'll be sleeping for a while," She said quietly.

"Okay, kid. You're awesome, remember that." Dean smiled, letting go of her and standing up. Marty stood as well and wrapped her arms around him one last time.

"Thanks Dean."

"No problem, Shrimpy."

Marty sat back down, immediately grabbing Jack's hand and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Dean, shouldn't we-" Sam started speaking but was quickly silenced by a wave of his brothers hand.

"It's okay for right now, we'll handle it in the morning." Then Dean left, followed somewhat reluctantly by Sam.

Marty felt a gust of air on her face and heard a sound like beating wings. When she looked up, she was in Jack's room, sitting on his bed with the Nephilim beside her.

"I'm gonna guess you did that," She said eyeing him quickly before leaning her head back against the headboard. Jack shrugged.

"I figured sitting on the floor would be uncomfortable."

Marty just nodded and stared up at the ceiling for a while.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Would you promise me something?" She asked. Jack's brows furrowed.

"Sure, if I can."

Marty moved her gaze away from the ceiling to look Jack in the eyes.

"Promise me you'll never leave me."

"I promise I'll never leave you," Jack said, making his voice a serious as he could. Marty nodded.

"Good." Was all she said. Then she was silent again.

"We can be BFF's!" He said. Marty smiled weakly but didn't reply.

"Does it bother you that I'm still in here?" Jack asked after a while.

"No."

"Really? Why not?" He inquired, he knew what was going on in her head right now and he wanted to keep her thoughts from going to dark places.

"Cause you're alive," She whispered the words so quietly, Jack almost thought they weren't meant for him to hear.

"I don't understand," He said. She chuckled but kept her gaze fixed on the roof.

"I dreamt that you died, that it was me who killed you. I dreamt that he killed you because I refused to do it." She sighed. "Having you in here, hearing you breathing, it reminds me that you're okay."

Jack nodded.

"That's why you made me make that promise?"

"Yeah."

"Then you can count on me to keep it." A few more minutes ticked by in silence before Marty spoke again.

"So, you find any of those Nerf guns?"

"I found three."

"Really?"

"Castiel helped."

"We have a turn-coat in a trench-coat. Awesome."

~ _If you tossin' and you're turnin' and you just can't fall asleep_  
 _I'll sing a song beside you_  
 _And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me_  
 _Every day I will remind you, oh_

_We'll find out what we're made of_   
_When we are called to_   
_help our friends in need_

_You can count on me_   
_like one, two, three_   
_I'll be there_   
_And I know when I need it, I can count on you like four, three, two_   
_And you'll be there_   
_'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh, yeah_   
_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_   
_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh, yeah, yeah_

_You'll always have my shoulder_   
_when you cry_   
_I'll never let go, never say goodbye_   
_You know..._

_You can count on me_   
_like one, two, three_   
_I'll be there_   
_And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two_   
_And you'll be there_   
_'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh, yeah_   
_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_   
_Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh_

_You can count on me 'cause I can count on you~_

_Lyrics from: Count On Me by Bruno Mars_


	17. Everybody Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because...Cheese Whiz...

Chapter Seventeen: Everybody Hurts

_~When your day is long_   
_And the night, the night is yours alone_   
_When you're sure you've had enough_   
_Of this life, hang on_

_Don't let yourself go_   
_'Cause everybody cries_   
_And everybody hurts sometimes_

_Sometimes everything is wrong_   
_Now it's time to sing along_   
_When your day is night alone_   
_If you feel like letting go_   
_If you think you've had too much_   
_Of this life, hang on_

_'Cause everybody hurts_   
_Take comfort in your friends_   
_Everybody hurts sometimes_ _~_

I don't think I've ever been more grateful to someone than I was that night when Jack just sat there, on the bed next to me, all night long.

He didn't complain.

Not even once.

He just stayed by my side, holding my hand in his and keeping his other arm around my shoulders. It was like he knew, without so much as a word on my part, that I wasn't ready for him to let go, for him to leave me alone; alone in the dark, sitting there with my thoughts bubbling around in my head. I've never owed anybody more than I owed him after that because he didn't just sit there. He kept me sane.

I was drowning in the violent black waters of my own brain, but every time my head dipped below the surface Jack would start talking. The subject varied, usually he would ask me a question about some social aspect he didn't understand or just a question about me. He'd ask about shopping malls and what those were like or he'd ask me what my favorite movie was, or anything and everything else that popped into his head. It didn't matter what he was talking about, I knew what he was doing and so did he. Jack was saving me. Every time the waves of my dark thoughts were about to swallow me up Jack's words would reach out, and I would be pulled from the waves and I would breathe again. Despite the fact that I never voiced it when those dark thoughts started flooding my mind, Jack somehow always knew when to start talking, just like how he knew exactly how to handle my unstable vision.

For a long time, my brain was only just keeping itself from hysterics, constantly on the verge of collapse. Magic had granted me my vision and my brain had never really liked that, it seemed as though whenever I got scared my brain just blocked things out. It was like my mind couldn't handle the sensory overload so it just shut down the sense it wasn't used to. Though in the past five years, I had grown used to seeing things. For me, the light wasn't the bane it was to the rest of my species, to me it was a comfort. My mind was a dark enough place on its own and I had already spent so much of my life in the blackness. I just wanted the light.

So for those long and dreadful hours, Jack was my light. Even when I couldn't see him. Every time my vision blacked out, he was there, holding me a little tighter and telling me it was all gonna be okay. It made me wonder what I had done to deserve such an amazing friend. Especially considering what my nightmare had _really_ been about. I had told Jack only a sliver of the truth.

Felix Ashton Monroe.

That was my nightmare's name, yes, but this time, he hadn't come alone. This nightmare had brought backup, a second horror to torture me with, as if one paralyzing fear wasn't enough to drive me insane.

In my nightmare I had been in the War Room, sitting and getting my butt handed to me in chess by Jack while Dean, Sam, and Castiel talked over the glowy table. Then, the handle on the steel door of the bunker had turned, creaking and groaning as the person on the door's other side applied enough pressure to bow the reinforced dead-bolts from their holes. For a moment the groaning ceased before the door was wrenched open and a proper and lean figure stepped though. I had seen him, clear as day. He had found the bunker, he had found me, and he was there to take me back.

Felix Ashton Monroe.

My nightmare.

His golden blond hair was close cropped and his beard he kept trimmed extremely close. He had full lips that seemed to turn down almost naturally and his glittering, curious eyes were set deep under a soft brow line. Despite the fact that he kept one eyebrow peaked in an omnipresent question, his expression somehow managed to elicit the impression that he was permanently and incurably bored with everything and everyone around him.

"Ye' might want ta' fix the lock on that door," Felix sighed, keeping his eyes focused on the task of fixing his cufflinks, he sounded utterly bored. His Scottish brogue was refined and rolled smoothly over his words, remaining devoid of malice or contempt. His tone was devoid of any emotion, really. When his cufflinks were perfectly straight, he tugged lightly on the bottom of the black velvet fabric to straighten his impeccable suit jacket. Then he folded his hands behind his back and brought his eyes up to inspect the various occupants of the room. His relaxed posture and proper demeanor made him seem docile and nonthreatening, but it was a ruse.

"Who are you?" The Dean in my dream had demanded.

"You don't know? I would have thought my sweet Martina would have told ye' bout' me, seeing as how I created her and all." Felix flicked his eyes to me and smiled but there was nothing warm about it. "Ello' litt'ol lassie."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked. Felix moved his head to look at the men again.

"Why, I'm here to collect whot's mine o'course," He replied.

"I don't know what's going on, but you ain't touchin' that kid. You want her, you're gonna have to go through us," Dean said firmly. Felix just sighed and nodded.

"Very well, suit yourselves."

Then Felix had killed them. First Sam, then Castiel, then Dean. Jack tried to protect me but Felix just beat him to his knees.

"Marty run!" Jack had choked out through the blood in his mouth and the pain of all his broken bones.

"No, Marty, stay." Felix held Jack upright by his hair with one hand. The other hand reached into his pocket to pull out a white handkerchief. Felix used it to wipe his mouth clean of the blood of my new family, the same as he'd done the last time with my old one.

In my dream, I had been frozen, rooted to the spot. I had wanted to run but I couldn't, not because I couldn't leave Jack to die, and not because I wanted to save him; I knew Felix would kill Jack no matter what I did. No, I was stuck to that spot because I wanted to kill Jack myself. Jack was bleeding, he was dying, and all I wanted in that moment was a taste of the red liquid that gushing out of him at an abhorrent rate. There was so much of it, everywhere filling everything, tainting my vision and blocking out all else. It smelled so good, so delicious, it was irresistible.

"C'mon, ye' know ye' wont it." Felix goaded. He was right, I did. "Don't keep tryin' to resist."

So, I didn't. I did what he said, I gave in. With my own teeth, and of my own decision, I killed the best friend I'd had in five years.

Back in reality, as Jack sat there beside me, I tried not to think of what my dream-self had done. I tried not to think about how good and how _right_ it had felt to sink my teeth into him. I tried to tell myself that I would never really do that and, for the first time in a while, I couldn't tell if I was lying or not.

"Cheese whiz."

The sound of Jack's voice pulled me from my thoughts yet again, for that I was grateful, though I must have misunderstood his words as his tone was far too serious for what he had said.

"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow at him. He glanced at me.

"Cheese whiz." He repeated, nodding with earnest. His eyebrows were raised slightly but he held his mouth in a serious line. It seemed Jack was running dangerously low on conversation material.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" I asked, shaking my head and chuckling a little. When I looked up Jack was gone. "Jack?"

I swept the room frantically with my gaze. I could have sworn I had only closed my eyes for a second. My heart sped like a racehorse as a terrible thought entered my mind. What if I was still in my nightmare? What if I'd never woken up? What if--

The springs on the bed creaked as a sudden weight plopped down beside me.

**Shppphhllrrrttt...shllrrpt**

My eyes drifted slowly to my right. I tried my best not to smile as Jack sprayed what to most would have been an unholy amount of cheese onto one of those circular snack crackers. He looked up at me, grinning like a kid who'd been give twenty bucks for the candy aisle at the dollar store.

"Your opinion on cheese whiz," he explained, holding up the can, "Yes or no?"

I stared at him, nodding and giving my best effort to keep a straight face. I didn't last long. Cracking a smile and rolling my eyes, I held my hand out for the yellow chemical concoction that was supposed to taste like cheese, but didn't, and somehow ended up tasting like a blend of chicken-in-a-biscuit and sunshine. Jack handed over the can of artificial happiness along with a few of the crackers. I sprayed just a slightly more socially acceptable amount of man-made bliss on my cracker before answering.

"Absolutely, all the time, put it on anything cracker-ish. This stuff is in the top three of mankind's greatest inventions, coming in third place only to Duck-Tape and air-conditioning." I finished my praise of the spray cheese and shoved a cracker in my mouth before passing the can back to Jack who smothered another cracker in an ungodly amount of cheese.

"Sometimes I put it on chips," He admitted. I didn't protest when he snatched one of my crackers from my hand, I was too busy processing what he had said and trying to come up with a reply.

"I don't know whether to call you a genius or an abomination for that. Is it any good?" I noticed Jack flinch on the word 'abomination' and I made a mental note not to say it in relation to him.

Jack bit his lip, focusing intently on spraying some sort design onto the cracker he stole from me.

"Some flavors are better than others," He spoke slowly, his eyes on the cracker. His hands shook a bit and he must have been trying really hard, "I like it on the salt and vinegar ones, kinda hate it on the barbecue."

I rolled my eyes and ate another cracker.

"Dude, you remind me of my little brother," I said with my mouth full. Jack looked up, puzzled.

"Why?"

"The kid was insane. He used to take those veggie-straw chips, stick em' in his root beer and then drink out of them!" I stuck my tongue out, making a disgusted face. Jack chuckled a bit and focused back on his apparent Mona-Lisa of a cracker.

"I should try that sometime," He said.

"Ugh! Do it and I'll smack you!"

"Would you?" He challenged.

I glanced at him just in time to see his mouth twitch up with a tiny smirk. Wait, was he messing with me? I wasn't aware he knew how to do that. His mouth twitched up again and I knew I had been right.

"Hold on, did you just tease me?" I asked in disbelief. Jack looked up and grinned.

"Anything to see you smile." Then he dropped into my hand, the cracker on which he'd apparently painted the last supper in spray cheese.

The pattern he'd been spraying on the cracker was a smiley face, winking with its tongue sticking out. His mission was accomplished; however, it did make me smile.

"It's not very good, nothing like what you can do, but I tried," Jack said. I snorted a little. "What?" He asked.

"One might call a thing such as this, quite **_cheesy_** , don't you think?" I smirked at him before eating his masterpiece.

"That was a terrible joke," He said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but it had to be done," I shrugged, looking up when I didn't get a reply.

Jack just smiled at me and nodded and there was this look in his eyes; it was like he was proud of me. Like he was proud of me for simply being able to make a crappy joke, for being able to smile, for keeping my head above water. He expected so little from me and he looked so proud when I was able to give him anything more than the barest minimum. I didn't understand how he could be satisfied with so little, but what baffled me more was why. Why would he try for someone like me? I felt heat rush to my cheeks and had to look away.

"Well, I think I'm just about done sitting in here wallowing in self-pity and trying to drown my sorrows in artificial cheese." I sighed, getting up and stretching my back, "You got anything you wanna do?"

"I'll do whatever you want. I'm never bored when I'm around you," Jack said, staring at my face intently. I tried to hide my smile.

"Well in that case, grab the cheese."

"I thought you said you were done with it?" Jack's brow pushed together. I'd noticed that was his reaction whenever he was trying to understand something. Then, when he felt he understood it, the line between his brows would smooth out and he'd look to whomever he was speaking to for approval. It was kind of adorable.

"I changed my mind, addicts do that," I informed him. Jack had been about to hand over the cheese but at the word 'addict' he paused, looking at me worriedly, and held it a little further away. His eyes flicked to the cheese, mistrustingly.

"I didn't know you could get addicted to cheese whiz..." His voice trailed off and his expression looked like he was asking himself the questions: ' _Does this make me a cheese addict? A cheese-aholic?'_ I rolled my eyes at his seemingly very serious self-reflection.

"I'm kidding Jack, you can't get addicted to cheese whiz, unless you're Bobby Zimuruski. But the day I stop using it to ignore my problems will probably be the day _after_ I die," I chuckled, snatching the can from him and squirting some on my finger. Jack seemed confused; he probably didn't know who Bobby Zimuruzki was. "Besides, if you're gonna get yourself addicted to something, that's what cocaine is for!" Jack perked up.

"I tried cocaine once!" He said. I blanked out. How do you even reply to that?

"Uhh..."

"I don't think I'd do it again though," He continued, his face and tone becoming thoughtful, "I mean, it was fun for a little while, everything was hilarious, but then my head hurt and I threw up." I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, crack'll do that to ya. So, uh, drugs are bad and don't do things that kill you, okay?"

"Okay." Jack nodded, smiling innocently.

"Good." I gave him a thumbs up and quickly changed the subject. "Let's go fold some towels."

"Fold towels?" Jack was confused but followed me as I made my way from his room and over the kitchen.

"Yep."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"We'll make it fun."

"How?"

"Well, aren't you the one who said he's never bored around me?" I turned to him with a smirk, walking backward. Jack nodded.

"Yes."

"Guess you'll just have to trust me then." I pulled open the kitchen door and held it for Jack. "Now, get me some of those salt and vinegar chips."

"You're gonna try it?" He grinned at me.

"I'm gonna regret it, is what I'm gonna do, but yeah."

*******

  
Fast forward two hours and fourteen minutes later and a bleary eyed, but mostly awake, Sam Winchester shuffled into the kitchen. At first he didn't notice me and Jack sitting at the table, but when he closed the fridge he glanced up and saw us.

I had tried the spray cheese on salt and vinegar chips and discovered that Jack was a genius. So, we had snacked on them while I taught Jack the fine art of towel folding. Now, Sam had caught us red handed... again. Ice cream at six in the morning had been one thing but chips and spray cheese at seven-thirty was another. Sam took a second to figure out what we were eating and another few seconds to comprehend how and why.

"You were right," I sighed, turning to Jack, "He does catch you every time."

"Yeah." Jack nodded his confirmation.

"Is that what I think it is?" Sam asked, pointing at the chips. Fatigue drenched his voice and I found myself baffled by how he could function with only two hours of sleep.

"Yup," I said, popping the 'p'. Rolling my gaze to my right, I shoved a chip in my mouth and lazily offered the plate we had been using to Sam. "Cheese chips, my lord?"

"That's disgusting." Sam said grimacing as he shook his head.

"On the contrary, this is fine cuisine. Right, Jack?" I said, giving a weak smile.

Even I recognized that my voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. My nightmare had drained me. It had drained me not only of energy, but of happiness, hope, and all things bright inside of me. Jack and Sam must have known how I felt because they didn't bring it up.

"Mmhm!" Jack nodded, enthusiastically. I gestured in his direction with a chip.

"This was his idea. You guys are raising a genius, you should be proud," I said, addressing Sam again. Jack smiled, proud of himself.

"Jack, this was your-- oh geez." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. With a sigh he glanced up at me and threw his hands in the air. "Marty, come on, you're a girl!"

"Gee thanks Sam, I didn't know," I replied, tired sarcasm drenching my voice.

"No, I didn't mean--" Sam sighed. "You're a girl, you're supposed to _fix_ his bad eating habits, not encourage them." He pleaded.

"Well, if it ain't broke..." I shrugged.

"You know what? Never mind." Sam's palms scrubbed at his tired eyes and he sighed. "Did you get any sleep last night?" He changed the subject.

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p'. Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing at the boy beside me.

"Did, uh, did-- Was it Jack who kept you up?"

I shoved another cracker in my mouth.

"Well, if by ' _kept me up_ ' you mean ' _kept me **sane**_ '-" I swallowed- "Then, uh, yeah." Sam nodded, pausing for a moment before opening his mouth again.

"Look Marty, I'm sorry you had a bad dream-"

I snapped my head in his direction, cutting him off.

"Bad dream?" I gave a bitter laugh. "No, Sam. That wasn't a bad dream. I'm a big girl, I can handle a ' _bad dream_ ' but **_that_**? That was a nightmare. It's the same one I've been living for five years. It's the one where everybody I've ever cared about dies and it's all my fault!"

"I know what that's like, we all do, but you gotta make sure you're getting enough sleep," Sam said, sounding like a parent. I bit my lip and looked at the table, tracing the pattern of the grain with my fingertip. He didn't know what I dreamt about. He couldn't tell me how to handle it.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say boss." Sam nodded and I was sure he could tell that I was done with that conversation.

"So, uh, what are you guys doing here?" Sam wondered, sounding somewhat weary as he eyed the table full of strangely folded towels.

"I'm teaching Jack how to fold a towel, so it looks like a chicken while we wait for Dean," I answered, turning my eyes back to the towel in my hands. I finished folding another chicken towel and sat it on the table. Me and Jack had raided a few closets and it turned out that this bunker had a lot of towels.

"Okay, uh, I have some questions," Sam started.

"Shoot." I kept my eyes on the towel and Sam's eyes flicked over my face before he focused on my hands.

"First, why are you waiting for Dean?"

I didn't answer him vocally, I reached to the stool beside me and grabbed the Nerf Rival pistol sitting there, waving it for Sam to see. Jack had found the gun in 'The Dean Cave' last night with the help of Castiel.

"It's going to be an ambush." Jack smiled as he finished folding another towel. Sam nodded, glancing between us.

"Okay, you guys have fun with that." Sam blinked shook his head quickly, as if trying to rid his brain of our strangeness before continuing. "And uh, s-second question, um, chicken towels?"

"Yep."

Sam blinked.

"Where did you learn that and why?"

"I was in therapy when I was a kid," I explained, "I've always had a problem with panic attacks, so my therapist taught me how to fold a towel like a chicken and she told me to do it whenever I had an episode." I smiled a little at Sam and he tried to return it but it just ended up looking like he was very sad about my mental stability.

"So, why- why would she do that?" Sam asked, frowning. I chuckled a little.

"Because it's absolutely absurd yet it requires a certain amount of focus so that makes it a good activity for grounding," I said. Sam nodded, though I was ninety-eight percent sure he still didn't understand.

"Huh. That's kinda cool, I guess."

At that second, Castiel strode into the room. His eyes drifted over us and he seemed deeply concerned.

"I found this in the library," He reported, holding up a chicken towel. I grinned and gave Jack a high-five.

"Congratulations Cas!" I cheered, "You found Charles Chicken!"

"What?" Cas squinted.

"You named them?" Sam raised an eyebrow, fear showing through his eyes.

"Oh yeah, totally. Me and Jack hid like ten of em' around the bunker. They're the Chicken siblings. Their names are: Chase, Chacha, Chad, Chad _wick_ , Chelsea, Chandler, Chance, Charity, ya already met Charles, and I'm forgetting one. Who is it?" I bit my lip trying to remember.

"Champ." Jack supplied.

"And Champ!" I finished. "Thanks Jack."

"You're welcome," He smiled. I turned to Sam who was staring at me, his expression one of pure terror.

"What?" I asked.

"Please tell me you googled those names."

"I did not." I grinned at him. Sam rolled his eyes as he slumped onto a stool.

"You know, when we met you, I thought you were gonna be normal," He sighed. I cramed another cheese covered chip into my mouth and put one of the chicken towels on my head, looking a Sam with the most serious expression I could conjure.

"Death to normalcy," I said with my mouth full. Sam shook his head with another sigh, but I could see the smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas spoke up. I lifted my eyes to see Dean stumble into the kitchen, more than half asleep, and grab the pot of coffee Jack had made as bait for our plan.

"Hey Cas, Sam, Jack," He mumbled, "And whatever-your-name-is." He added as an afterthought.

Jack had told me that it would take a few minutes of coffee sipping for Dean to become truly coherent. Jack had been right. It took at least seven minutes for Dean to notice the army of chicken towels. When he did, his eyes widened, and his mouth hung slack. He looked slightly horrified but, of course, that had been the intention.

"What. The. Hell." He ground out, clearly still tired.

I gave Jack a wink. It was time to initiate our plan. Jack stood, picking up a chicken and walking over to Dean who eyed it with a certain amount of caution.

"What is that thing?" Dean asked.

"It's a chicken made from a towel! Marty taught me." Jack smiled innocently and I tried my best not to giggle, that would give away our plan.  
Dean looked up, frowning at Jack.

"I am **_so_** disappointed in you right now, on **_so_** many levels," He sighed, shaking his head. Jack grinned.

"Good! Then it worked!"

"Wait, what worked?"

Jack tossed the chicken towel on Dean's head and ducked. I whipped out the Nerf Rival pistol and fired two of those yellow rubber rounds at Dean. The first hit his cheek and the second hit his jaw. Dean didn't move. He didn't try to dodge or anything. He just blinked once, twice, three times and slowly turned his head to me.

"That was my face," He said, glaring but the corner of his mouth was twitching. Sam was chuckling next to me.

"Yep!"

"I was gonna ask if you were okay after last night, but I think I got my answer. That's the last time I help you out."

"What can I say? Shooting people cheers me up." I shrugged.

"Good plan though. Nice teamwork, you two. The Trojans got a horse, guess I got a towel chicken." Dean sighed, yanking the towel off his head and chucking it at my face. I caught it.

"Love you Dean!" I smiled.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean mumbled, "What do y'all say to pancakes?"

I'll never forget what happened next.

Every phone in the room started ringing. Every phone but mine.

The four hunters looked at each other simultaneously. None of them moved until Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket.

"The number's blocked," He told us.

He shrugged before sliding his finger to answer. The phone was on speaker. All the other phones stopped ringing in unison.

"Hello?" Dean said, glancing at Sam and Cas.

" _Top o' the mornin' to the infamous Winchesters with their angel and a half._ " The refined voice of the Scottish man over the phone froze me in place.

It was him. I knew it instantly.

It was the voice that haunted my nightmares. I'd know it anywhere.

" _My name is Felix and I think you lads have somethin' that belongs to me_."

All the eyes in the room locked on me.

" ** _I'd like her back now_**."

~ _When your day is long_  
 _And the night, the night is yours alone_  
 _When you're sure you've had enough_  
 _Of this life, hang on_

_Don't let yourself go_   
_'Cause everybody cries_   
_And everybody hurts sometimes_

_Sometimes everything is wrong_   
_Now it's time to sing along_   
_When your day is night alone_   
_If you feel like letting go_   
_If you think you've had too much_   
_Of this life, hang on_

_'Cause everybody hurts_   
_Take comfort in your friends_   
_Everybody hurts sometimes_ _~_

_Lyrics from: Everybody Hurts by Jasmine Thompson_


	18. All Is Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP IS THAT MY PLOT!!!????? IT ACTUALLY EXISTS?????

Chapter Eighteen: All is Quiet

No.

Not him.

Not here.

Not now.

Not again.

I didn't want this. I was supposed to be safe here. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Please.

Oh please.

Not again.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I got no idea what you're talkin' about," Dean lied easily. A chuckle, cold and humorless, sounded from the line.

" _Oh, but I think you do, Dean Winchester_ ," Felix's disembodied voice droned.

"Okay, you know who I am. Big whoop." Dean was stalling. Sam had whipped out his laptop and his fingers were flying across the keyboard, I guessed he was trying to track the blocked number.

" _Please, anyone who hasn't been livin' under a rock for the last eight years knows who you are. You, and your brother, Samuel who I can hear typing on a computer. He's probably trying to track this number as we speak_." Dean meet Sam's gaze and Sam typed faster. Felix continued.

" _I wouldn't try it, Samuel. I'm currently using twenty-seven separate routers. Honestly, its not worth the effort. It would take an entire government team thirty minutes to trace this call to its true source_."

"The name is Sam, and I'm betting I can beat that," Sam said, raising his voice slightly and turning his head in the direction of the receiver.

" _On a seven-year-old private laptop? More like a typewriter really_ ," Felix scoffed. " _Oh, do be my guest_."

"What do you want?" Dean asked.

" _Dean, I understand you're not exactly the brains of your brutish operation, but I know you're not that thick_ ," Felix sighed.

"You can keep callin' me stupid, Nessie, but that won't change the facts. Tell me whattcha want or I'm hanging up."

" _Her name is Martina Imogene Linville, though she only told you her first name, didn't she_?"

I couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips. In front of me, Jack reached across the table and gently grasped my hand, offering his support while remaining silent. Meanwhile, Dean didn't miss a beat with his reply.

"Yeah, I don't know who that is, I think you called the wrong hunters." Dean did a good job at sounding bored, but the sound of Felix's laughter caught him off guard. The laugh that sounded over the speaker was dark and hollow, it sent a shiver down my spine.

" _No, I don't think I did. Especially since I can hear her pathetic whimpering over the phone_." (What do you call it when someone sounds both annoyed and amused at the same time?)

I gasped. This wasn't happening. No.

" _Ello' litt'ol lassie_."

I didn't say a word. I couldn't.

Felix chuckled.

" _Did you really think I didn't know exactly where you were these past five years_?"

I squeezed Jack's hand like a lifeline and bit my tongue to keep from making any sound.

" _Did you really think I'd let you get away, that I'd simply forgive and forget what you did? Did you think I'd forgotten what you **stole** from me_?"

Everyone looked at me. Even Sam glanced up questioningly from his keyboard.

" _You Winchesters may think she's innocent, but that little girl is lyin' to ye' she's almost as cunning and deceitful as the devil himself. Isn't that right, lassie_?" Felix drawled.

I squeezed my eyes shut and focused all my energy on not crying. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

" _You can lie to them, my delicious little Martina, but you can't fool me_."

All four men were staring at me, each of them bearing a different expression on his face. Sam's eyes flicked from me to the computer screen and back, he looked mildly confused but most of his focus was on tracking Felix's call. Dean's furrowed brows gave him the appearance of worry with a turn towards thoughtfulness. Castiel's expression was dark, he regarded me with a glare of weary distrust. Jack's eyes, however, were filled to the brim with only one thing, loyal determination.

"I don't believe him," Jack whispered. His words made something warm in my chest swell up like a flower blooming in a ray of sunshine.

" _Oh, but you should believe me, Jack Kline. Your father and that wretched girl would get along excellently. She's just like him, but perhaps that's exactly whot' draws ye' to her_." I didn't understand how it was possible for Felix to have heard Jack's whisper, but he'd had. Felix had been ready, he was always ready.

Jack looked as if the words of the man on the phone had been a spear, driven through his heart.

"I'm not my father," Jack growled. I found myself wondering who Jack's father was and what he had to do with me.

" _Then I would suggest you not get too close to sweet Martina. I know what it is she's doing to you. Fall for it, fall for the act, and you will be the one she kills first_."

Jack glanced at me and I saw it. Those questioning eyes. That flicker of doubt. A tiny glimmer of fear. It was near impossible to see, but it was there.

In that moment I realized just how much that flicker if fear hurt. Previously I had feared that I might hurt Jack, but suddenly, the mere thought was repulsive to me. The anger swelled, hot and fierce in my chest like a wildfire.

' ** _No_**.' I decided. _' **No. I won't. I. Will. Never. Hurt. Jack**.'_

 _"_ YOU DIRTY LIAR!" I screamed, in a moment of bravery. A tiny chuckle sounded over the line.

" _Ah, there ye' are. Tell me Winchesters and friends, doesn't she just have the most beautiful voice you ever heard_?" Felix's voice dragged against my ears. This was it. He was going to tell them.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" I shrieked, my tone raising to a near earsplitting pitch. Tears pricked at my eyes. I couldn't stand how they were looking at me; how Jack was looking at me.

" _What I want is a simple thing. Revenge_."

Jack's grip on my hand tightened.

"I don't care what you say, I won't let you kill her!" He said, his voice like steel.

" _You misunderstand, me boy_." I could almost hear Felix rolling his eyes. " _I don't want to kill her. I want to watch her kill you! Or the other way around_."

I shook my head at Jack, mouthing the word 'No.' Felix continued.

" _I know you're playing your little game with them Martina, and I know its only a matter of time before they figure it out. Hopefully it takes a good long while, it'll hurt more that way._ "

The fire of my anger flickered out and took my bravery with it. Felix was right, eventually they would figure me out and then they would turn their backs and everything I had would be gone. This could only go one of two ways. I kill them or they kill me.

Dread creeped into my bones and made my heart stutter. My vision flickered. Why couldn't this just go away!

Then there were arms around me and Jack's voice was in my ear.

"He won't hurt you," Jack breathed, "I won't let him." I nodded and he tightened his grip. He rested his chin on my head and I buried my face in his shirt. His timing was spectacular because two seconds more and I would have been screaming.

"I think that's enough threats from you, Nessie. How'd you know she was with us?" Dean swapped subjects. An amused humming came from the phone.

" _Why, my loyal informant told me o' course_." There was a click as the phone on the other end switched to speaker. " _Is there something you'd like to say to Martina and her friends_?" He asked someone on his end.

" _I'M SORRY MARTY! I'M SO SORRY_!" A voice tainted with a Brooklyn accent wailed. I looked up from Jack's shoulder.

I knew that voice.

"Danny?" I whispered.

" _I DIDN'T MEAN TO TELL HIM! HE MADE ME MARTY! I'M SO SORRY_!"

" _Oh, shut up, Daniel, you pathetic whelp_." Felix sighed. There was the sound of flesh on flesh contact and the snap of a breaking bone followed by someone spluttering and spitting. There was the wet coughing of someone hacking up blood.

"No! Danny!" I cried. I struggled in Jack's grip, reaching for the phone as if I could somehow help my friend on the other side.

"Marty, don't scream," Jack whispered urgently.

" _Does that bother you, lassie? " _Felix mockingly asked _. " How 'bout this? Does this **hurt**?!_"

**_ CRACK _ ** !

_" GAAHHHH!!!!" _Dan's shriek ripped from the speakers and slashed at my heart.

"No! Stop it! Stop!" I tried again in vain to reach the phone but Jack kept me bound.

"Marty, you have to quiet down. You're just encouraging him," Jack whispered in my ear but I couldn't hear him. My ears were ringing with Dan's screams and my vision was red with my rage.

" _It hurts when someone you care about is in pain. It hurts even more when you know you're the one who's **causing** it_!" Felix grunted and Dan screamed again.

"I HATE YOU!" My voice cracked with my sob. More sounds of Dan being beaten sounded over the phone and I cried out every time he did. Dan was hurting, he was hurting because of me. Part of my brain registered that I was only making it worse but I couldn't hold back my gut reaction.

Seeing this, Jack's arms constricted around me like a python, the more I fought him, the tighter his grip became. He was nearly crushing my chest. I began finding it difficult to breathe and gasped for air.

"I'm sorry," He muttered. Jack's voice wasn't even strained, this clearly wasn't taking much effort on his part. I couldn't scream anymore as I had wasted all my air. My eyelids became severely heavy and my head clouded, everything became dulled. I stopped struggling but Jack didn't loosen his grip, not for a few more seconds.

Through the effective enough method of cutting off my air supply, Jack had managed to calm me down enough to get Felix to stop beating Dan. In my half unconscious state, I was grateful to him.

When I heard Felix huff a breath after his last punch at Dan, I could picture him fixing his hair and straightening his cufflinks.

" _I hope you enjoyed my little show, Martina. Now, I see Samuel has managed to get past fifteen of my routers, good on ye' Samuel. So before I go, I'd just like to ask where it is you Winchesters are hiding that girl_."

"Like we'd ever tell you," Castiel growled.

" _Well, I'll find out eventually. It's just a matter of time, asking is really just a formality. The precise location of that Men of Letters bunker is about the one thing on this planet I don't know_ ," Felix sighed.

"And you ain't figuring it out!" Dean said.

" _We'll see 'bout that. I wish you all a fond farewell and as my parting gift to my delicious Martina, I give you this_ ―" There was the quiet noise of extending vampire fangs. Then Dan was screaming. Then he was choking and gurgling. Then he was silent. A thump sounded as a body collapsed onto unyielding concrete.

I wished I could scream but I didn't have the strength. Jack rubbed my arms trying to comfort me but there was nothing he, or anybody in the world could do. Dan was gone and it was all my fault.

" _Oh and one more thing_ ," Felix said, " _I wish the Nephilim Jack Kline a very exiting first. Of what, I think he knows_."

The line clicked and just like that it was over.

Except it wasn't. Because now I had to plead my innocence to a room full of professional liars... and Jack. There was no way I could convince them that I was completely ordinary, not now. But perhaps I didn't need too. Perhaps I could get away with showing them just a bit of the truth.


	19. I Just Wanna Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN!!!!

Chapter Nineteen: I Just Wanna Run

_~I just wanna run, hide it away  
Run because they're chasing me down  
I just wanna run, throw it away  
Run before they're finding me out  
I just wanna run_

_Like a game of chess  
I predict your move  
I think I know you better  
Better than you do  
I'm sick of feeling cheap  
Cheated and abused  
Sick of losing sleep  
Thinking about you~_

Nobody talked for a bit. They just stared at me. Jack was the one who broke the silence.

"That man on the phone, the one Felix killed. Who was he?" He asked, gently. My grip on his hands tightened.

"He was my friend." My eyes held back tears and I choked back a sob. "He-he was a shapeshifter. But he'd never hurt anybody a day in his life. He ran and owned the pharmacy in Copper Harbor. Everybody called him Jonathan De' Santos but that wasn’t his real name because he was in hiding. His wife was murdered by hunters. His real name was Daniel Perdita."

I scrubbed at my cheeks. The tears were falling.

"He was my best friend."

Jack nodded but it seemed nobody had anything to say.

"Danny had a little girl," I choked. My eyes closed yet I could feel the saltwater slipping out between my lids.

"What was her name?" Jack asked.

"Her--her name― her name was―" I stopped, taking a deep shaking breath to collect myself.

"Her name was Aerilyn-Anne. She'll be eight months old next month and-- and she's the most beautiful baby anybody ever saw."

Jack nodded, urging me to keep going.

"After Dan's wife was murdered, three―three months after Aerilyn-Anne was born, he―he couldn't afford to raise h-her. She went into foster care while he tried―he―he tried to―to save u-up enough m-money so his precious little g-irl wouldn't have to call a stranger 'dad'! But―but now―" I clenched my teeth.

"But now that―that sweet, innocent little girl― She won't even have a tombstone to call her father's! Danny loved her so much! And she―she's gonna grow up. A-and she's gonna think that―that her dad left her. She's-she's never gonna know how―how much h-he loved her. S-she's gonna h-hate h-him! All 'cause― All 'cause of me!" I said sobbing.

"No, Marty-" Jack started but cut him off with a whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Aerylin-Anne. I'm so sorry I took your daddy away!"

I buried my face in my hands. Jack rubbed my arm. It was all he could do. After a few minutes I raised my head.

"I. Want. Felix. Dead." I seethed.

"I can see why," Dean mumbled, tucking his phone away. "But for right now, I think you've got some explaining to do, kid."

"What do you want to know?" I asked, eyeing him.

"How 'bout you tell us what all that crap about you killing us was, for starters." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. The guy certainly was intimidating.

"A lie," I answered, quiet yet firm. My answer was the truth. It had to be.

"How do we know that?" Castiel asked, pointedly. I sighed.

"Because for the first time in five years, I actually have something to lose. I have something for him to take," I admitted.

That's all Felix wanted. To _take_ and **_take_** and **_take_** until I had nothing. And even after all that, he wouldn't kill me. No, he'd just leave me to suffer and hurt until I gave in to my hunger and destroyed myself.

Until I became just like him.

But I couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt or kill because of the pain he'd caused.

Because I _was_ good.

There was still good _in_ me. Being what I was didn't make me evil. It couldn't. It didn't have that power.

I did.

It was me. My choices determined that, not his. I could choose to be good.

I had to.

Felix was wrong. He was wrong about me. He was wrong about everything.

I had to beat him.

I had to prove him wrong.

"And what is that? What's he trying to take?" Dean pressed. I smiled despite the heat of the rage that simmered just under my cool expression.

"You guy's took me in, you gave me something beautiful. You gave me _this_. And I know it’s only been a couple days, but I can't help feeling like I finally have a family again! I know I'll never be able the thank you enough for that, but now the only thing I can think about is how much it's going to hurt if I lose you." I scrubbed at my cheeks; the tears were falling again. "It's you. It is _this_. He wants to take my family away, again. Except this time, he wants to make sure I know it's my fault."

"How would he do that?" Cas questioned.

"I don't know," I lied. It was an obvious lie, however. Dean caught on to it instantly.

"Yeah, you might wanna rethink that." Dean's eyes narrowed I could sense his suspicion growing.

"Marty, it sounded like that Felix guy knows something about you that we don't." Sam said in a tone much gentler than Dean's accusatory one. "What is it?"

I looked down at my feet. Clad only by socks, they didn't reach the floor due to the height of the stool on which I sat.

"Nothing important," I replied, lying again. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Nothing important?" He scoffed, "Really? Look kid, contrary to popular belief, we ain't stupid. So, whatever it is you're trying to hide- don't. It won't end well for you."

I kept my head down.

"Not much does."

Dean opened his mouth to say something else. But Castiel interrupted.

"Dean." Cas held up his hand, his tone was almost a warning. "Whatever it is, Marty, you can tell us." He reassured.

I shook my head, letting my hair fall like curtains around my face. ' _Hype up the drama, girl. Their pity is your stepping stool_.' I thought.

"You'll think I'm a freak."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Marty, everybody in this room is a freak. -- Or has been at _some_ point in their lives."

Cas glared at Dean in a silent warning. Beside me, Jack's hands released their grip on mine tremoring violently. He clasped them together in his lap and glared at them, his face twisting into a scowl of resentment I didn't understand. Sam too, nodded and swallowed thickly, quickly eyeing both Dean and Castiel before glancing away again. His expression hardly changed, with only the corners his mouth twitching downward a miniscule amount. But he somehow seemed just as uncomfortable with his brother's statement as Jack did. I eyed Dean, giving him my best withering glare and crossing my arms over my chest, in my best effort to seem stubborn.

"Sorry if I don't believe you when I'm standing in a room with two literal **_angels_**."

I knew I had to play my game. The one I'd been playing for far too long. The one I was far too good at. A game of chess for my life. It was all about strategy. The sacrifice of the queen so an opponent ignores the bishops and rooks ready to take his king.

I had to play at denial. I had to play the reluctant victim. I had to play the broken girl held together by duck-tape and safety-pins inside.

I was far from broken. I had all my pieces. All my pieces were laid out on the board in front of me. If Felix wanted to play a game, then it was mine he was going to play. All I needed to win it forever was a four-move checkmate. It was possible, you just needed to make the right moves. This was my game. Four moves and I win. Felix was the white king and he'd made his move. It was time for black to take its turn. Felix thought he was so clever. I would show him clever. Four moves and I win.

He's not beating me again.

Four moves and I win.

"Well, I think you'd reconsider your doubt if I told you that the ' _literal angel_ ' sitting next to you is the literal **_devil's_** kid," Dean said, his tone mocking me as he threw up air quotes. So that's what the thing with Jack's father had been about. Interesting.

Jack flinched noticeably and I watched his hands clench tighter into fists as an odd golden light flared out from his fingertips. The veins in his arms glowed a duller hue just beneath the veil of his skin and his hands clenched even tighter, his jaw set and locked in a gesture of determined, and secretly frightened, focus. He exhaled deeply, a futile effort to calm himself, before his wide eyes flicked up to meet mine and I drew in a startled breath.

His eyes were not their deep blue color, not anymore. They glimmered and flashed the hue of fiery molten gold. Like a furnace melting a hoard of riches. Their newfound color was not the result of any trick of the light due to the dull yellow-ish bulbs of the kitchen. It was all him. Jack’s eyes were not reflecting that golden light. No. Jack’s eyes were producing it.

I stared at those glowing irises in shock and wonderment. Despite the disquietude they held, the Nephilim’s eyes, gleaming like endless wells of aurelian sparks, conveyed a sort of ethereal predominance, a celestial majesty; the beauty of which went unmatched by anything I had ever known. This display of raw unadulterated power was not intimidating or discomforting, however. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect. See, that fiery light in the boy’s eyes was not violent or angry like a forest fire, bent on destroying all in its path; though I was now sure that Jack was capable of doing just that if he so desired. No, the light in his eyes reminded me of a much gentler sort of flame, his eyes reminded me of sparks.

Like the sparks that rise from a campfire to drift and swirl on the breeze. Like the gold-gilded sparks that fly from the tips of sparklers accompanied by the laughter of children as they celebrate the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. Like the sparks left in the wake of a streaking comet or a hurtling meteor as they race on their path to collide with another heavenly body. Like the sparks flung out into the infinite cosmos by tendrils of fire belonging to one in a million blazing infernos of gas and dust that spins its way through the interstellar void above.

Jack’s eyes reminded me of creation, of the universe itself, and of the billions and billions and billions of life forms that all followed the same pattern and cycle. Light and dark. Warmth and cold. Chaos and peace. Growth and decay. Life and death. Which in turn feeds new life. His eyes reminded me of rebirth. The destruction of something old to create something new, something pure. Like a phoenix burning and rising from the ashes, Jack’s eyes explained to me of the comfort of the infinite.

And how rare and beautiful it truly is to even exist.

I suppose most people in their right mind would have been afraid of the son of darkness. But then again, I wasn't most people. And I wasn't in my right mind. There was something about those wild, frightened eyes as they swept over my face, expecting signs of disgust, that gave me the impression that he was more afraid of himself than anyone could ever be of him. It looked to me that the spawn of all evil had a heart the same beautiful shade as his eyes. He just didn't know it.

Or maybe he couldn't see it.

I rested a hand over Jack's glowing ones, and he cast his beautiful eyes away from me in shame.

Or perhaps someone had told him not to.

My gaze flicked to Dean.

"I guess that depends, Dean. Does the devil’s son see dead people?" I challenged.

"You see dead people?" Dean asked skeptically.

"I see the people I couldn't save. The ones I failed," I clarified.

"You mean Isaac?" Sam prodded.

"He's one of them, yes. I made sure the rest didn't stick around."

"Humans can see ghosts, Marty. It's not uncommon," Castiel said with a sigh. I glared at him.

"You think I don't know that?" I snapped. "I see Isaac _all the time_ , Cas."

"Wait-wait! Does that mean you can see him, like, right now?" Sam asked, eyes wide. I flicked my gaze to Isaac, where he stood by the refrigerator. Isaac shook his head.

"Don't tell them, Marty," He begged. I smiled at him a little. What other choice did I have?

"Yes, Sam. I can see him, right now. He's standing by the refrigerator, telling me not to tell you," I spoke aloud.

Isaac threw his hands in the air, exasperation evident on his face. All eyes turned to the general area where he stood. But of course, they couldn't see him.

"Alright, you see your dead brother constantly. But I don’t understand, why is that so important? How does that make you useful to this guy?" Sam's eyebrows drew together. I turned my attention to him, tilting my head.

"Whoever said I had to be useful?"

"Then why does he want you so much?" Sam pressed.

"Didn't you hear what the psychopath said, Sammy? She stole something from him," Dean recounted.

"But what did she steal?" Cas wondered aloud.

" ** _She_** didn't _steal_ anything. I **escaped** ," I pushed my way forcefully back into the conversation. "I'm right here, guys. Come on."

"Yeah, sorry Marty. But what did he mean?" Sam apologized. Dean scoffed.

"I don't see why it matters. Let's just cut the gab and go get this son of a―"

I snapped my head in his direction, cutting him off. The darkness and the power welled up inside of me, I could feel it. Bubbling, boiling just under the surface, pressing against the underneath of my skin, clawing its way up my throat, spilling onto my tongue, vying for an escape. I glared at Dean and for a brief moment, allowed him to see just a thread-- a mere sliver of the dark turbulent water that dominated my mind. I willed him to glimpse the threat of the blackness I kept hidden with the illusion my innocent countenance provided. I didn't want to sweet-talk him, but I couldn't stop it. The second I opened my mouth, the power launched out and attached itself to the four hunters, leaching on their thoughts and memories. Like the parasite it was. Like the parasite **_I_** am. I didn't feel sorry.

"You guys don't get it do you?" I gave a bitter laugh. "That wasn't just some random vamp who thinks that just because he can kill a girl on the street it means he can take on the world. I'm a big girl, and I'm a lot cleverer than most people think. I've run into more than one vamp like that and lived."

My eyes flicked between the faces of the four men around me. Each face bearing a different level of concern. Jack's face held so much sympathy he looked like he might cry, meanwhile Castiel studied me with a guarded expression and cold, calculating suspicion. I sucked in a breath and continued.

"But that guy? _Felix_ ─ he's not like them. I've spent five years trying to learn as much as possible about him. Nobody knows exactly where he's from, originally, I mean. Some say he was born in Athens and is eight-thousand years old―"

"Then how come he's Scottish?" Dean interrupted. I shook my head and shrugged slightly.

"All I know is that he's spent a lot of his life there, he must have adopted the accent. Felix likes to observe. He hoards knowledge like a dragon hoards gold. And if he's as old as people say, then he's observed the rise and fall of the world’s greatest empires, learned from the greatest scholars, and been privy to the most influential events in history. That’s a long time to perfect the arts of subtlety and anonymity."

My breath shuddered and my heart beat rapidly, rattling in my ribcage like a chained animal as I prepared myself for what I was about to say next.

"Felix held me captive for a while after he slaughtered my family. He kept me in a cage and killed innocent people in front of me. He said he wanted me to get used to death.

"He told me I was an experiment. He said I was _special_ and if I did well than I'd be a tool in his hands but if I failed, then he would kill me. That's what he meant when he said I stole from him. I was his experiment. He doesn't like when he loses experiments. I don't know how I got away..." My voice trailed off and I looked to Jack. Tears stung my eyes and no matter how furiously I blinked, they refused to fall or go away.

"I guess I never really did," I whispered, bowing my head. Jack squeezed my hand in a way that said: _'It's okay. I'm here._ ' No one had anything to say, so I clenched my hands into fists and kept going.

"Felix thinks of everything as an experiment. The world is his lab and all of us are just his lab-rats. He sees himself as superior to everyone and that gives him the right to kill and torture as he pleases. He said I was his property. Like the rest of them.”

“The rest of who?” Sam asked. I continued my explanation, answering his question.

"All the vampires that he's turned. They are completely loyal to him; they're placed all around the globe. He's like their god. They think he's invincible and they do all his dirty work for him while he sits in the shadows, like a ghostly puppet master. A rumor, a whisper, hard to see but impossible to catch. Once he's got you in his little puppet-show, you can't escape. You don't try to; because the string he pulls on to make you dance is the noose, a rope made from everything you love, that he tricked you into tying around your throat." I finished, my voice practically a growl. Castiel folded his arms and shifted his weight to his other foot.

"If no one tries to escape him, why did you?" Castiel asked. I closed my eyes and kept my head down, chuckling a dry, humorless laugh.

"You wanna know why?" I hissed through my teeth.

My jaw was clenched like a vice. If I hadn’t been so focused on my rage and the matter at hand, I would have feared shattering my teeth. I didn't mean to be so harsh, but the power was surging through me. Clinging and amplifying the hopelessness and the dread and the rage Felix's call had left behind.

"Yes." I could feel Castiel's eyes on me staring me down. My head snapped up and I met his hardened sapphire gaze.

"Because I had no rope, no strings. A puppet needs strings, but I didn’t have any left. I had nothing left that I loved. I had nothing left to live for. Immortality may be appealing to some, but I wasn't going to let him turn me into some monster! I wasn't going to let myself be damned to live out the rest of forever as his little slave and serve a sentence of loneliness, unmet potential, and broken dreams for the rest of eternity!" I shouted.

Though I wasn't telling the whole truth, I was telling these four hunters more than I had told anyone ever before. My pent-up emotions of the last five years poured out of me and I couldn't stop them. I was admitting to more pain than even Isaac had known about. I shifted my gaze from Castiel to my faithful brother even though the hunters couldn't see Isaac where he stood by the freezers. Isaac knew the parts of the story I couldn't tell the hunters, and now I felt as though I was finally coming completely clean to someone for the first time. I needed this. I needed to tell _somebody_ just how much all of this hurt. The power rushing from me and into the four hunters worked off of emotions and memories, mine and theirs. I could see that these men lived with pain as if it were an old friend. I knew they could tell that my pain was real. Honestly, I don't think I needed my Sweet-Talking to convince them I was telling the truth, but the power coursing through my veins and spilling from my mouth would make sure they never forgot it.

It seemed that everyone in the room, the living and the dead, the humans and the angels, were all speechless. The power inside me whispered to them that I wasn't quite done. They waited for me to finish.

"I didn't run because I thought I could make it," I explained, whispering now. "I ran because I knew I couldn't."

I glanced at Jack who eyed me with a heartbroken expression, shaking his head slowly as if he knew what was coming next.

"I ran because I _wanted_ to **_die_**." I raised my head, eyeing the man in the tan trench-coat. "So, you see Castiel, I didn't run for my life. I was _nine-years-old_ and I ran for my death. I was just a tiny nine-year-old girl who had lost everything.

"I kept waiting, you know. Sitting in a cage, all alone, surrounded by blood and corpses. I kept waiting, holding out hope. I thought that somebody would pass by that office building and hear my sobbing through one of the broken windows. I kept on thinking, kept on hoping, kept on wishing, kept on _praying_ for somebody to save me. But you know what? Nobody. Ever. Did.

"It took me a long time to figure out that no shining savior was coming. It took me a long time to figure out that I didn't matter to the universe's little narrative and that I was just an expendable side character. I learned that no one was coming. I learned that I had to save myself. That night taught me life's most brutal lesson: **_Nobody Cares, and Nobody Comes._**

"See, I ran that night because death seemed a kinder punishment then having to live forever in a world with that horrid reality. Even if I didn't understand what the Hell, I had ever done that I needed to be punished for. I was nine and I was innocent! Yet that didn't seem to matter!

"So, there you have it, Castiel angel of the Lord. That is why I ran." I finished, pursing my lips, and shrugging. A tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn't bother to wipe it away.

"I don’t think I’ve ever stopped running. I don’t think I ever will."

~ _I just wanna run, hide it away  
Run because they're chasing me down  
I just wanna run, throw it away  
Run before they're finding me out  
I just wanna run_

_Like a game of chess  
I predict your move  
I think I know you better  
Better than you do  
I'm sick of feeling cheap  
Cheated and abused  
Sick of losing sleep  
Thinking about you_

_I'm feelin' like I keep on talking  
I'm repeating  
Myself, my words lost all meaning  
I keep talking  
I repeat myself~_

_Lyrics from: I Just Wanna Run by The Downtown Fiction_


	20. Mr. Blue Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a precious golden raindrop.

Chapter Twenty: Mr. Blue Sky

_~Sun is shinin' in the sky  
There ain't a cloud in sight  
It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play  
And don't you know  
It's a beautiful new day, hey hey_

_Runnin' down the avenue  
See how the sun shines brightly in the city  
On the streets where once was pity  
Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey_

_Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why  
You had to hide away for so long   
Where did we go wrong?_

_Mr. Blue, you did it right  
But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over  
Now his hand is on your shoulder  
Never mind I'll remember you this  
I'll remember you this way~_

"Sammy?"

"Uh, y-yeah?"

"Call Rowena," Dean ordered.

"On it!" Sam got up and left the kitchen, already dialing a number.

Dean turned pointing at Castiel.

"We need to talk," He said. Then he up and left the room. I worked on unclenching my jaw. It wasn't working.

"Marty, we're going to find him," Jack promised, giving a solemn nod.

"I know," I said quietly, chewing my lip, "I have complete faith in you."

"Then what's wrong? Please, let me help."

Jack reached out and tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear, his fingertips brushing lightly across my cheekbone. I couldn't stop myself flinching away at the unexpected contact. Jack's face instantly crumpled, his hand hovering in the air for moment before he clenched it into a fist and brought it back to his side. The half-angel looked at me and all I could register in his eyes was regret and guilt. He pursed his lips to stop the lower one quivering and raked a hand through his hair.

"Is it me?" He finally asked in a scratchy whisper. "Do I scare you now? Now that you know?"

He was trying to be strong, I could tell, but Jack's expression conveyed so much while only saying one thing. The line between his brows, the tiny crease in his forehead, the slight downward curve of his pursed lips, it all said one thing: ' _Please don't tell me I'm the problem. Not again. Please don't push me away. Not for this_.'

"No, Jack. It-It's not you. I-It's me." I gave him a tight smile, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Honestly, I don't think you could scare me if you tried."

Jack nodded and, like me, forced a smile. I guessed it was the best we could do.

"Well, while they're doing whatever it is they're doing, would you like to play Battleship?" Jack asked after a few seconds. I shook my head instead of answering. I was tired now and beginning to feel the effects of bending four minds to my will at once.

"Or we could play a different game. Anything you want to do. I just like Battleship," Jack suggested. I sighed and shook my head again.

"I think I need some time alone."

"Oh." Jack nodded, disappointed but understanding at the same time. "Alright, I'll just play solitaire then."

"Have fun with that," I said, standing.

"Not likely. I've never beaten solitaire before." Jack stood with me and I sent him a questioning look. "The cards are in my room." He explained, holding open the kitchen door for me.

"Ah."

We walked side by side down the hall, still holding hands, until we reached the doors to our respective rooms and finally split apart. I called out to Jack just before he slipped inside his room.

"Jack?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you," I told him honestly. His eyebrows drew together as if pulled by some invisible needle and thread.

"For what?"

"For being so kind to me. And, well, for just being you," I explained. Jack sent me one of his lopsided smiles. It was so genuine, so heart-warming and just so─ so incredibly _Jack_. It made my heart ache again for what I could never have.

"No thank-you's required!" He replied, waving his hand, "I do that for free!"

I chuckled.

"What do you do that's not for free I wonder?" I asked. Jack's smile turned into a full-on grin.

"I guess you'll just have to find out!" He said and if I wasn't mistaken, there was a little bit of cocky-ness in the tone of his voice. The mischievous twinkle in his eye confirmed my suspicions.

"I guess I will." I smirked and pushed my way into my room, closing the door behind me. Then I flopped on my bed and threw my arm over my eyes.

I was exhausted. Both mentally and physically. The strain of bending the will of all four hunters had taken its toll.

Navigating my way through the minds of Sam and Dean Winchester felt like trying to get out of quicksand...feet first.

At first, it was difficult. Then it was impossible.

Their overwhelming grief and paralyzing fear nearly drowned me. I fought desperately against it, struggling to keep myself on the surface, trying to access their happier memories. For the first little while the brothers fought my progress and it seemed to me that they were just stubborn. But the longer I stayed in their heads, the more their grief seemed to drag me under. Eventually, I stopped fighting them and let myself sink into their despair. When I had done that, however, I had discovered something. If I stopped struggling, if I stopped fighting it, I stopped sinking. The less I tried to force them into contentment, the more I realized the truth. It wasn't my touch they were fighting. It was their own desire to be happy. Their lives were so full of grief, they didn't want to allow themselves to hope. Because hopes become dreams and dreams are fragile things that seem to shatter all to quickly when crushed in the calloused hands of grief.

But for all their broken parts, they had so much goodness inside of them. It was refreshing to see. All I had to do was help them find the reason they were fighting for themselves, then they did the rest. They gave themselves a reason to fight for me.

If weaseling my way into the minds of the Winchester brothers had been like digging into quicksand, than breaking into the mind of Castiel was like trying to carve out a hole through the center of a ten-foot thick wall of clay using nothing more than Jack's fingernails. (I would say **my** fingernails, but mine are quite long and would be marginally proficient at scraping into clay. Jack, on the other hand, bites his fingernails. Thus, his nails have no length to speak of, making them perfect for this analogy.)

I was trying my hardest but for all my mental scrabbling and scraping, I just seemed to be making nothing more than inconsequential dents in his psyche. Nothing I did seemed to matter because there was just so **much**. His consciousness seemed an unfathomable expanse of memories. His mind was endless catalog containing the entirety of Earth's history and more. There were so many memories to sift through, that the sheer volume of them almost seemed like a physical force. That physical force being a wall of clay.

If I had to describe this "wall" of his densely packed memories as having a color, then that color would be gray. The story of life on earth as told through the angel’s eyes, was monochromatic. Illustrated in shades of grey. Emotionless. Detached. They weren't sad, not exactly. For how can one be sad if one does not know happiness? But there was something else behind within all that grey, it was the desire to be happy. And, sad, and afraid, and angry, and in love, and spiteful, and everything. It was the desire to feel. To experience life in a way his nature strictly forbade.

But when I had sifted through all the eternities in the angel’s head, I found his center. In the middle of that ten-foot-thick wall of clay, was a tiny speck of color amidst all the grayness. 

That speck of color contained all the memories that made the angel into who he was now. That speck of color was Jack and the Winchesters. His family. That was what held Castiel together. And yes, there was more than a fair share of bleak, dark memories mixed into the lot but all those served to do was make the bright, colorful ones even more special. For that, Castiel was grateful.

I found that he was grateful for all his memories. The good, the bad, and even the mass of grey that seemed more like a history textbook than a memoir. Even those memories had a purpose. Those ones reminded the angel of just how lucky he was that he had found his family. They reminded him that despite how much all the pain and the strife hurt, it was worth it because it was so much better to feel the pain knowing it was because he'd been happy, even if it was only for a mere instant in the grand timeline of the universe and even if it would only be for a few instant's more. It was better than the alternative. To feel nothing and be nothing. To feel no pain would mean knowing no joy. So Castiel was grateful for all those grey memories because they made sure he remembered what all of his joy was really worth. Castiel knew how much he valued his joy and with a tiny push on my part, he found that I deserved to have joy just as much as he did.

Jack on the other hand, was a different story. He didn't require convincing. I just couldn't contain my curiosity. I had wanted to know what it was like inside his head.

If the Winchesters heads had been like quicksand and Castiel's a wall of clay, than Jack's mind was something.

Being in the Nephilim’s mind wasn't like digging or carving or working in any form.

Being in Jack's mind was more like standing in the rain. I don't mean a thunderstorm. I mean a gentle drizzle. The kind of rain I'd always wished my mom would let me go out and stand in when I was a child. It was pleasant and it was effortless. Jack's mind wasn't a sad or gloomy place either, though I suppose it was more based on how one was to look at it. If you looked at your feet, all you would see would be rain and puddles. But if you just looked up, you'd see the rainbow and feel the wonderful tickling of the raindrops on your face.

Jack's mind was like that. It was a fascinating place to be.

Most of Jack's thoughts were like those raindrops. They were independent and light. They were all of the casual thoughts he had about the world around him and since he wasn't human, Jack had more thoughts about the world than most. Plenty of his thoughts were about such normal and ordinary things, but seeing them through his eyes, they suddenly became fascinating and unique. It made me want to giggle at the sheer ridiculous beauty of it all. Jack's mind was still so full childlike wonder, just thinking about it made me smile.

But of course, not all the Nephilim’s thoughts could be lighthearted. For one so young, he was full of fear and doubt and anguish. And the thoughts he had about those subjects fell in big, fat raindrops that collected in puddles. Though these puddles were by no means shallow. Stepping into one of them, I found that it was like hopping and expecting to land in a puddle, only to dive into an Olympic pool. Struggling for air, it was hard to figure out which way was up. But unlike the Winchesters, getting out of Jack's grief was not impossible. It was difficult, sure. But Jack understood something the Winchesters had lost sight of. Jack knew that there was always a rainbow hanging over-head.

I wished I had that sort of optimism.

Despite the toll it had taken on me to bend the minds of four entities at once, it was worth it. I hadn’t known just how strong I was before now. If I could influence the thoughts of four people at once for an extended period of time, like I had done in the kitchen just now, who knew what else I could do? If I could do that, what else was I capable of?

*******

“Okay, so I just got off the phone with Rowena and I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Sam said, striding into the library where Dean and Castiel sat, discussing something. Judging by the looks on their faces, it was something serious.

“Alright, good news first,” Dean said, the wooden chair in which he sat groaned as he leaned back.

“Uh, s-so the good news is Rowena has heard of this Felix guy and she wants to help us.” Sam stopped. Dean looked at him expectantly. “That- uh, that’s pretty much all the good news.”

“And the bad news?” Cas asked, almost hesitant. Sam grimaced a bit.

“Well, part one of the bad news is she’s doing something and wants us our help to finish it faster.” Sam watched the reactions of the others.

“Well?” Dean prodded, impatiently. “Where is she?”

Sam sighed.

“That’s part two of the bad news; she’s in New York.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Wait, like **_New York_** , New York? Or just, you know, New York?”

“Uh, New York, New York.”

“We’re talking about **New** ‘friggin’ **York** : The Big Apple, Times Square, Empire State, Central Park Zoo, Statue of Liberty, literally three times the population of this entire state, the whole shebang?” Dean asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Yes, Dean. New York City. If I recall, you’ve been there before,” Sam said, pointedly.

“No, I went there for Bella and the rabbit’s foot ‘cause you were dying. I didn’t get to see anything!” Dean insisted. The younger brother and the angel stared at Dean with slightly raised eyebrows and widened eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam relented, deciding to ignore Dean, “Well, we won’t be there for sight-seeing this time around either.”

Dean scoffed.

“Why not?”

“Because a sadistic vampire is trying to find the bunker and **_kill_** Marty. Felix knows **_way_** too much about all of us, Dean. We need to find some things out about **_him_**!” Sam exclaimed.

“I **_understand_** that, Sammy–” Dean waved a pretzel stick at his brother– “Of course, we’re gonna dig up some dirt about this guy. But that does **not** mean we can’t go to Central Park while we’re doing that. If we’re going to New York, we’re going to that zoo.” Dean’s voice was like iron.

“Why the zoo?” Castiel asked, his forehead wrinkling with confusion.

“Because–” Dean explained, biting into his pretzel stick– “I wanna take a picture of one of the zebras and torment Marty with it. Hang it on her wall or somethin’ I dunno.” The older Winchester grinned at his younger brother’s exasperated eye-roll. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Why?” He groaned, not looking up.

“It **has** to be done, Sammy. I can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Sam groaned again. Dean’s grin stretched wider and he glanced to Cas who just shook his head as if extremely disappointed but not the least bit surprised.

“What’s Rowena doing in New York anyway?” Dean asked, sobering up. Sam shrugged, shaking his head.

“Who knows? I-I mean–”

“ ** _It’s Rowena,_** ” All three huffed in unison.

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled.

“What’s the rest of the bad news?” Cas asked.

“Well, Rowena said she knows of this Felix, but she wouldn’t tell me anything about him- not over the phone. She said we weren’t safe talking on the phone. I mean, not a lot makes Rowena nervous, right? So, if she thinks this guy is a big enough deal to take precautions over, then I think Marty was right; this guy might **_actually_** be a big deal.” Sam spread his hands when he finished, his face poised in a question of what to do next.

“Speaking of Martina,” Cas started, he nodded at Dean as if reminding him of something. Dean nodded back.

“What?” Sam asked, feeling left out of something. Dean crunched on another pretzel and looked at his little brother.

“When Marty was giving that monologue about her tragic backstory, did you feel anything, I dunno, weird?” Dean raised a brow in question. Sam’s brows pulled together as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight and gave Dean his attention.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you feel irrationally compelled to have sympathy for her plight?” Cas clarified.

“N-no. I-I don’t think so. Why?” Sam said, clearing his throat.

“Both Dean and I felt a peculiarly potent sense of empathy and were reminded of certain young persons entrusted to our care. We would like to know if you felt anything similar,” The angel explained.

“I don’t understand; why is this important? Did I miss something?” Sam directed his remarks to his older brother.

“Look, when Marty started talking about what happened to her, I thought of you, Sammy.”

“And I thought of Jack,” Cas added.

“And that’s weird how?” Sam’s eye flicked between the two, awaiting an answer.

“That’s the thing. On its own, it’s not.” Dean leaned forward. “But the same thing happened when I thought she was a vampire back in Michigan. I thought about you, how I saved you. Except, when I thought about _it_ , it was like I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. Like someone was _making_ me think about you.”

“So, what? You think Marty’s a psychic?” Sam asked. Dean shrugged.

“I don’t know, Sam. I mean, she sees her dead brother. Who knows what else she could be capable of?”

“If she’s psychic that must be why Felix wants her so bad. Maybe she can influence thoughts and emotions, without being aware she’s doing it!”

Castiel frowned.

“Or perhaps she is aware of what she’s doing,” He suggested, darkly.

“Are you saying you think Marty is trying to mind control us? Plenty of psychics aren’t aware that they’re psychic,” Sam pointed out.

“She may not be psychic, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not completely sure if Martina is human.”

The Winchesters frowned at their friends remark. Dean held up a hand as if to stop the conversation.

“Hold on.” Dean held up a hand as if to stop the conversation. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“Exactly what I said,” Cas replied.

“You’re an angel, you sense monster’s, you can tell when somebody’s lying, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then how are you not sure if the kid is human?”

Cas sighed.

“Martina is… clouded from me. I can’t read her mind; I can’t be sure whether she’s lying. If there is something she’s hiding, and I suspect that’s the case, then **_I don’t know_**.”

Sam and Dean were silent, unsure of what to say.

“Think about it,” Cas pushed. “How much do we actually _know_ about her? We must consider all the information Felix gave us. Martina could have ulterior motives; she could be lying. And if she is, then she’s brilliant at it. She managed to avoid giving us so much as her full name. What else could she be keeping from us?”

“Well, we know her name now,” Dean pointed out. “Sammy?”

“Hm?”

“We leave for New York tonight. Bring your laptop and do some homework on our new friend, but don’t start now. If Marty isn’t who she claims, then she can’t know we’re suspicious. We’ll leave Jack here to keep an eye on her,” Dean said, nodding and moving to stand up.

“Jack’s coming with us,” Sam spoke up.

“Why?”

“Rowena said something about breaking some protection spells and needing a quote; ‘Walking, talking, magical Energizer Bunny.’ She told me to bring Jack.”

“Fine,” Dean sighed, “Guess Marty’s going ‘Home Alone’.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Cas asked, doubtfully. Dean chuckled, shaking his head.

“C’mon Cas, the shrimp can hardly reach the cereal in the pantry. Even if she turns out to be a criminal mastermind, she’d have to grow at least a foot to get her hands on anything dangerous.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The angel said, before departing to prepare to leave.

_~_ _S_ _un is shinin' in the sky  
There ain't a cloud in sight  
It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play  
And don't you know  
It's a beautiful new day, hey hey_

_Runnin' down the avenue  
See how the sun shines brightly in the city  
On the streets where once was pity  
Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey_

_Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why  
You had to hide away for so long   
Where did we go wrong?_

_Mr. Blue, you did it right  
But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over  
Now his hand is on your shoulder  
Never mind I'll remember you this  
I'll remember you this way_ _~_

_Lyrics from: Mr. Blue Sky by ELO_


	21. Happiness is a Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cricket is back... she/it is fun to write.

Chapter Twenty-One: Happiness is a Butterfly

~ _Happiness is a butterfly_  
 _Try to catch it like every night_  
 _It escapes from my hands into moonlight_  
 _Every day is a lullaby_  
 _I hum it on the phone like every night_  
 _And sing it for my babies on the tour life_  
 _Ah ah_

_If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst_   
_That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?_   
_I'm already hurt_   
_If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed_   
_Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt_   
_He's already hurt_

_I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"_   
_Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat_   
_Ooh_   
_I just wanna dance with you_   
_Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley_   
_I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue_   
_I just wanna dance with you_   
_I just wanna dance with you~_

Before Jack's eyes had even had the chance to open, he registered that he was sitting in the back seat of the Impala, though he couldn't seem to recall the turn of events that had led to his presence in the car. His hands were folded beneath his cheek in an attempt to cushion his face against the hard plastic lining the doors. The Impala itself was parked underneath the light of an old streetlamp on some back-road lined by tall, dry grass. The dull yellow streetlamp didn't stand straight anymore; it leaned out over the road; it's flickering yellow beam draping itself perfectly down over Jack. With the way the light fell across his face and shadows poured out around his head, if standing in just the right spot, one could almost swear that boy had a halo. Nobody had ever looked more like an angel.

Jack could hear the dull roar of other cars and the splash of their tires through puddles as they rushed by on a distant highway. He listened to a train rolling down its tracks; it was far, far, away from him.

He could hear the peaceful chirping of dozens of crickets, the quiet on-and-off clicking of the flickering streetlamp, and the soft crackling of the tall, dry reeds as they brushed tenderly against one another in the slight breeze. He could feel the gentle wind carding through his hair; the air was warm and wet and close, wrapping around him like a blanket. It tasted like the medium sized raindrops that pitter-pattered quietly down over his face, leaving warm tender, kisses across his cheeks and eyelids.

Thunder rumbled across the mid-summer night sky from some unknown origin; tolling out, long and low, like a bell that calls along fields of white, preaching the end of a day’s work. The winds whispering through the dry vegetation seemed to gather and flow upwards into a starless sky; into the tumbling clouds brewing and stirring, just on the verge of a fine summer storm. The yellowed grasslands continued to a destination far beyond the horizon and each blade of grass waved in unison, like a powerful ancient entity silently speaking to tell the tale of lands ripe and ready for rain. ' _Hush now, sweet one,_ ' the whole world seemed to say, ' _it's time to sleep_.'

Jack wished he could stay right where he was, in that precise moment forever. It was so peaceful. It had always felt like there was this weight on his shoulders; it had been there since the day he was born. But here there was no weight, there was no threat, there was no guillotine hanging over his head. There was just the sounds of the wind and the rain and the crickets flowing together in gentle harmony. Beside him, off to his left, there was the sound of fabric on leather as someone shifted around in their seat. Jack's eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head, turning to face whoever was in the car with him.

He was met with their back. The hair was a tell-tale sign as to the figure's identity. Transitioning in color from midnight black to snow white, it was woven into a braid and pulled over her shoulder. Marty staired out open the window across the grasslands, her chin resting on her thin folded arms.

Her bony shoulders moved slightly up and down with each of her deep breaths. A pair of grey and turquoise headphones sat perched on her head, hugging her small ears. The jacket she wore seemed too big for her slight frame; the red leather nearly drowned her, and its folded back collar spilled with plenty excess around her head. The off-white fuzz lining the jacket's interior cradled her slim face as if it were made of glass, almost like it was making a conscious effort not to break any of the girl's delicate features.

Jack blinked a few times, reaching up to scrub the tiredness from his eyes with the palms of his hands; then he looked up again. He was quick to realize the reason the jacket looked to big for the girl was because the jacket belonged to him. It was his favorite jacket. The fuzziness made him feel safe.

Reaching out, Jack's hand hovered over her shoulder for a moment, poised to get her attention. But he was reminded of a woman he had met on a hunt, Athena had been her name, she had gotten very angry with Sam when Sam had tapped on her shoulder whilst she had been wearing headphones. So, Jack thought better of his decision and tapped on the black leather seat instead. Marty reached back and pressed a button on her headphones before turning around to look at him. When he offered her a smile, she returned it and slipped the headphones off her ears.

"Behold, it lives!" Marty said in a matter-of-fact sort of voice, turning her body to face him. She smirked. "You know, I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up. Looks like there's an angel out there who owes me money."

"Why?"

"Me and Cas bet on how long you'd sleep for," Marty explained, shrugging. A small smile gracing her lips, "It seems I won."

Jack nodded.

"Okay. Where are Sam and Dean?"

"Whatever it is they're hunting, it’s just a short walk away from here. They were gonna take you, but they thought it would be better to let you sleep."

Jack simply nodded before pointing at the jacket she had wrapped tightly around her.

"That's my jacket."

"How observant of you. What's your point?" She said with a wink, clicking her tongue the same way Dean did when he gave someone finger guns.

"You stole it."

"Whoa, whoa. _Borrowed,_ " She corrected, stressing the syllables, " _Borrowed without permission._ "

"That's the same thing." Jack frowned. Marty held up two fingers as if to stop his remarks in place.

"No, stealing means forever, borrowing means I intend to give it back."

"Do you?" He asked, doubtful. Marty looked down at the jacket.

"I don't know, man. It's pretty warm. And fuzzy. I like fuzzy," She said, stroking the jacket's inner lining and pulling it tighter around her.

"It’s not cold," He pointed out.

"Says the frickin' furnace," She muttered, bitterly, "It's Louisiana, Dean said. Ittle' be warm, Dean said. You can wear a tank-top, Dean said. Last time I listen to him."

Jack snickered at her pouty attitude.

"Is something funny over there, chuckles?" Marty challenged, raising an eyebrow. Jack shook his head.

"No, you're just cute when you're annoyed," He said.

He didn't know why he had said that. Heat rose up in his cheeks and he wanted to just melt away into the floor. Jack looked away to hide the blush that crawled its way over his features. Beside him, Marty laughed; she sounded like wind chimes. Jack thought Marty's laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

"Well, you're cute all the time; I gotta catch up somehow!" She replied, nudging his shoulder playfully. Jack smiled a little to himself.

There was this secret part of Jack, somewhere deep down, that liked seeing her in his jacket; however, if anyone asked, he would never admit to it. She was just so small; she looked so fragile, yet at the same time, unbreakable. The light from that old streetlamp didn't quite touch her face, but the residual glow caressed her pale skin and made her eyes sparkle. That black hair of hers flowed around her face like liquid shadows; she looked like something that wasn't quite real, like something out of a dream.

Jack felt something when he looked at her then, something new. It twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach and filled his body with this sort of buzzing. Jack had heard the term ' _butterflies in one's stomach_ ' but this didn't feel like butterflies. It felt like... **_sparks_**. Bright and warm and energetic and new. Like sparks igniting in his chest and spreading all over his body and he didn't want it to end. Jack liked this new feeling.

There was this sudden need that swelled inside of him, like an ache in his chest. He needed to touch her. To just hold her hand, to just be a little bit closer.

"If you're cold, I can keep you warm," Jack offered. He had ulterior motives of course but she didn't have to know that. Marty chuckled and shook her head a little, the corners of her eyes crinkling up.

"Smooth one, Jack. Real smooth," She said, rolling her eyes and trying to fight a way a smirk.

"Sorry." Jack looked away, shrinking into his seat.

"Did I say no?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I just-"

Marty grabbed Jacks arm and pulled it around her shoulders, resting her head on his chest just like she had done that first night in the Impala. And just like that, Jack was at peace. He was complete. He rested his head atop hers and took hold of her tiny hand, tangling their fingers together. That moment felt like home. It was nice. _Too_ nice.

"Marty?"

"Hmm?" She hummed in response. (Jack could feel the vibration of her vocal cords and the thrumming of her heart; he liked that.)

"Marty, I think I'm dreaming," Jack sighed, woefully. The girl laying across him stretched out a little and turned her head to look up at him.

"Well, if you're dreaming, would I know it?" She asked.

"I guess not." He frowned.

"Why do you think you're dreaming, Jack?"

Jack sighed.

"Because this is perfect. And if something feels too good to be true, than it _always_ is," Jack said, playing with a few loose strands of Marty's hair.

"That's a pretty sucky way to look at things," She said, closing her eyes.

"I want this to be real," Jack almost begged.

"Me too."

Jack shifted a bit so he could better see Marty's beautiful face.

"How can you like me so much?"

Marty smirked.

"'Cause you're a likeable guy. And you're not a serial killer, so that's a plus."

"I'm being serious, Marty. I'm dangerous," Jack insisted shaking his head. Marty shifted a little against him, sighing a bit.

"I'm dangerous too, you know."

Jack's brows pulled together in confusion. For some reason her words didn't seem so friendly.

"What do you mean?" He asked, carefully.

"Just what I said." She smirked, turning her face into Jack's chest, and took a deep breath through her nose. "Mmm. Did I ever tell you? You smell delicious."

"What?!" Jack sat up a straight in alarm.

"And I'll bet you'll taste just as good as you smell." Marty laughed again; the sound was still pleasant, but it was cold too.

"No!" Jack pushed Marty away from him, trying in vain to open the door of the Impala.

Marty's laughter died away and she grinned at him, showing all her teeth. With a soft clicking noise, a second row of teeth slid down over her first. The teeth were long and sharp, perfect for ripping into flesh.

' _Vampire_ ' Jack thought.

With newfound desperation, he flung all of his weight against the car door. Thankfully, it swung open and Jack tumbled out. The gravel on the road scraping his skin as he struggled to get upright. He sprinted down the road; looking back, he watched Marty emerge from the car in a crawling, predatory way. He watched her pleasant playful smirk stretch across her face before she began sprinting after him.

Jack faced forwards and kicked it into high gear. His feet pounding against the gravel drive, his heart racing in his chest, panic flooding his mind. He focused on the bunker, trying to will himself there, but he couldn't teleport. He could only run. And Jack knew he would never be able to outrun Marty for long.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream! IT'S JUST A DREAM!!!" He chanted to himself.

"Keep telling yourself that, Jack-Jack!" Marty shouted. How could she move even faster?

"Come on! WAKE UP!!!" Jack punched at his own shoulder, trying to wake himself. He heard the sound of a bone snapping and felt the accompanying pain. Thankfully, his angel healing took care of it and the pain didn't last long. But now he knew. There was no way out.

Marty was catching up; she was twenty feet behind him now. Running in a straight line wasn't going to work. Jack may have had the longer legs, but Marty could _move._ And that girl was moving _fast._

Jack took a hard left, dashing into the woods lining the road, heading in the direction of the sounds of cars. Dashing between the trees, he took random turns in an attempt to shake this bloodthirsty version of his friend off his trail. The woods slowed him down, he kept tripping; it seemed he stumbled over every root or branch there was to be found. But Jack kept on running.

The railroad he had previously only heard, appeared as he burst from the trees, it ran through the woods endlessly off into the night. On his right, he caught a glimpse of a gathering of rocks and he barreled towards it. As he threw himself over the pile of stones, a branch dug into his arm and dragged itself through his flesh. His healing was quick to take care of it, but not before several drops of blood dripped down and splashed against the dirt. He ignored the cut and curled himself into a tight ball, pressing himself close to the cover of the rocks. His lungs burned and his heart rattled in his ribcage. Jack struggled into an upright position and peeked through a gap in the rocks.

Marty emerged from the trees, walking at a casual pace, she found the rusty railway and tiptoed along it. She held her arms out for balance, looking like a little kid does when they walk along the curb beside a parent.

"I know you're here, Jack!" She called out into the darkness. Her voice was light and childish; it sent a shiver down Jack’s spine.

"I can hear you!"

Jack clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I can smell you!" Marty turned her towards Jack's hiding place, and he froze, all he could do was pray she couldn't see him. "I can taste you on the breeze. You're bleeding, or at least, you were."

Jack tried to think of something, anything he could do to defend himself, but he had nothing. Without his powers, he _was_ nothing. In front of him, Marty smirked and rushed the pile of rocks. Vaulting over it, she grabbed Jack by the shoulders and flipped him on his back, pinning him to the ground.

"Wait! No!"

Marty grinned.

"Bye-bye, Jack-Jack. Sorry-not-sorry."

Her teeth felt like a thousand knives.

*******

Jack woke with a gasp, taking a few moments to calm himself and figure out where he was.

It was that white place again, the one with no floor or walls. That place he'd gone to when he'd fallen asleep after having first met Marty. The sound of someone clearing their throat came from behind him and Jack turned to face whoever had made it. Marty was standing there, but which Marty was it. The monster in his dream, or the girl from real-life?

"Marty?" He asked, cautiously. The girl smirked.

"Guess again." Her eyes changed, flashing gold like his did when he used his powers.

"Cricket." Jack scowled as he realized who, or what, he was speaking to.

"Ding, Ding, Ding!" Jack's conscience winked at him. Jack just glared. Cricket huffed, crossing her arms. "Geez. Don't look so excited."

"I don't like you," Jack said, his eyes narrowed.

"Ooh, ouch. No need to be so hard on yourself."

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked through clenched teeth.

"You know, we hate it when you blame us for things that _really_ aren't our fault," Cricket sighed, shaking her head, "Cut us a little slack, why don't ya?"

"What do you want?"

Cricket shrugged.

"I dunno. You tell me! You're the one who brought us here."

"What? I thought you-" Jack frowned.

"Nope, that was last time. This one's on you buddy."

Jack didn't respond.

"Lemme guess. We had a weird dream; oh yeah, I saw it, the dream confused us, and we brought us together to try to figure it out. Did I get it right?" Cricket wiggled her eyebrows at him, pretending to wait for a prize or something. Jack, however, was not in the mood for his apparent subconscious' attitude.

"That dream, was that you?" He demanded. Cricket huffed a short laugh, doing Jazz hands.

"I always love being recognized by fans of my work!" Cricket grinned in an unsettling sort of way. "Did ya like it? I mean, considering our glaring lack of practical experience when it comes to having a crush, I think we did pretty good with what we had to work with."

Jack felt his cheeks heating up; he couldn't bring himself to look at the entity wearing Marty's face.

"No. I don't like Marty like that," He claimed. Cricket raised an eyebrow.

"Do you though?" Her tone was seven shades of doubtful.

"I. Don't." He insisted, firmly. Cricket shook her head with a chuckle.

"I know Sam and Dean might say otherwise, but you don't _have_ to lie to yourself."

"I'm not lying."

"Right."

"I'm not!" Jack growled. Cricket was wearing on his patience.

"Hey, I ain't judging! That girl is seriously _gorgeous_." A dreamy expression crossed over Cricket's face. That was annoying to Jack for some reason he couldn't name. It was probably just because Cricket was annoying him; she was always annoying him.

"Just stop," Jack sighed. Cricket shrugged.

"It ain't gay if I'm you!" She pointed out.

"Stop!"

"And I wouldn't suggest you start being jealous of yourself-"

Jack gritted his teeth. He knew his powers would be of no help here.

"Shut up!"

"-'Cause that's just downright confusing."

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Jack heard a sickening crunching noise as his fist connected with Cricket's nose. Cricket looked shocked that he had punched her. The thing wearing Marty's face held its eyes as wide as quarters and its nose was tweaked in an odd angle, crimson blood dripping down over her mouth and chin. Then Cricket grinned; the blood coating her teeth. The blood reminded him of the vampire version of Marty his odd nightmare had conjured up.

Cricket pinched the broken section of it’s nose and pushed it back to center with a grinding sound that turned Jack's stomach and made him grimace. The entity in his head kept chuckling as it wiped the blood off its stolen face.

"Really, Jack? Self-harm? I thought we were over this," Cricket sighed in mock disappointment. Jack clenched his hands into fists. It took all of his will power to refrain from saying something that would only serve to encourage Cricket's sarcasm.

"If you have something you want to say, then just say it," Jack demanded.

"Hold on, did you just ask for my advice?"

Jack kept his face impassive; he was done with her games. Realizing Jack wasn't going to reply, Cricket continued. Though, not without an eyeroll, of course.

"I think you should be more aware of how you feel when Marty is around as opposed to when she isn't. I think you should be more aware of how she _wants_ you to feel in her presence. I think you should pay a closer mind to Felix's every word; he doesn't speak them idly." All humor in Cricket's voice had disappeared, it's gaze locked on Jack's eyes, piercing into his soul.

"Everything that happens these next few weeks, pay close attention, Jack. The greatest liars hide in the places plainest to our view."

Then Jack woke up... Again.

*******

Déjá vu washed over Jack like a wave.

Waking with a gasp, his head snapped up from where it had rested on his arms which laid folded on his desk. Jack jumped from his chair, knocking it over in his haste and fright. The loud crashing noise that accompanied the falling chair echoed through the otherwise silent bunker, making him wince. Carefully, he moved the fake chestnut chair back onto its legs and hoped he hadn't disturbed anybody else.

" _The greatest liars hide in the places plainest to our view._ "

He needed to talk to Marty. He needed to make sure that it had just been a dream.

Jack tore from his room and raced the short ways down the hall, throwing open the door to Marty's. She sat at her desk sketching something.

"Holy PG-13 rating!!!" She shrieked, jumping nearly a foot into the air as Jack burst into the room. He was shaking, he didn't know what to do. Marty was quick to notice his panic-stricken expression.

"Oh my gosh! Jack are you okay? What's wrong?"

The second she spoke Jack knew everything was going to be okay. He couldn't explain why he felt that way; the calm just sorts of washed over him and it was like it had always been there.

"I-I-I, um, it was just a-a bad dream," Jack said, settling down. Marty shook her head, crossing the room and looking up at him.

"A bad dream doesn't send people running to someone they just met for comfort." She touched his shoulder and Jack looked away, embarrassed now. "Was your dream about me?"

Jack nodded.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"Okay. Well, I’m okay, and you’re okay, and everybody’s okay." Marty wrapped her arms around him, though she couldn't quite reach his shoulders.

' _It's fine. I'm fine. It was just a dream_.' He thought to himself.

"Thank you," He said out loud.

"Any time, puppy." Marty smiled at him, pulling away and going back to her drawing. It was a butterfly.

"Puppy?" He wondered.

"You have puppy-dog eyes." Was all she gave him as a response.

Just then, Dean poked his head into the room. He eyed Jack and Marty for a moment with a slightly suspicious expression before addressing the Nephilim.

"Jack, go get your stuff," He ordered, "We're leaving in thirty minutes."

"Where? Why?" The boy asked, his brows pulling together.

"Rowena is in New-York and she wants your juice. Now go."

Jack nodded; a hint of reluctance visible in his expression but he left the room without another word. Dean turned to Marty, looking over her shoulder.

"Nice bug."

"Thanks."

~ _Happiness is a butterfly_  
 _Try to catch it like every night_  
 _It escapes from my hands into moonlight_  
 _Every day is a lullaby_  
 _I hum it on the phone like every night_  
 _And sing it for my babies on the tour life_  
 _Ah ah_

_If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst_   
_That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?_   
_I'm already hurt_   
_If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed_   
_Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt_   
_He's already hurt_

_I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"_  
 _Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat_  
 _Ooh_  
 _I just wanna dance with you_  
 _Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley_  
 _I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue_  
 _I just wanna dance with you_  
 _I just wanna dance with you_ ~

Lyrics from: Happiness is a Butterfly by Lana Del Rey

**Author's Note: This entire chapter is a big huge train wreck and I'm sorry.**   
**Me: "I need to advance the plot."**   
**Also me: *wastes 2,000 words on a dream sequence**


	22. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets see... Pain, Mad Libs, height jokes, OH AND GUESS WHO!!!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Bruises

~ _There must be something in the water_  
 _'Cause everyday it's getting colder_  
 _And if only I could hold you_  
 _You'd keep my head from going under~_

Under any normal circumstances the soft vibration of the Impala's engine traveling through his entire frame and the quiet tapping of rain drops on windows and the sounds of vehicles rushing by would have been just as soothing to Jack as any lullaby. But today did not qualify as one of "normal circumstances" because today all of those noises just reminded him of that horrid nightmare, he'd had the day before. Just thinking about it made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. The nightmare itself had not been scary so much as deeply unsettling. Jack had faced things much more frightening than any vampire; that wasn't what bothered him.

What bothered Jack was that twisted version of Marty in his dream. How it had _looked_ at him; how it had _talked_ to him.

When Marty-- the real Marty that is-- looked up at him, even when she had found out who he was-- _what_ he was, especially then, -- Jack had looked into those big grey eyes of hers and had seen something he hadn't seen in the eyes of _anyone_ who had ever looked at him before. He had seen wonder in her eyes. The same sort of awestruck excitement she'd had on her face when she'd talked to him about the stars. The stars were something near to her heart, yet she had looked at _him, **Jack Kline** ,_ the same way. She didn't look at him the way everybody else did; like a freak to be killed, like something they could use, or like a child to be ignored. Marty always seemed to look at him like he was something special. Like he mattered, like he was a real person, like he was worth her time even if he couldn't do anything to help her. Jack could tell, just from the way Marty looked at him, that she didn't give a crap about his powers. She just cared about _him_.

So, when he thought about that evil version of her from his dream, it made something in his chest hurt. It was like bruise on his heart; he didn't want to touch on it, he didn't even want to think about it, because if he did then it just hurt worse. Thinking about that empty, predatory, hollow-eyed stare and that calculating, maniacal, hungry grin; it made him shiver and ache inside. In that dream, before it went wrong, Marty had been so much like herself. Friendly, carefree, funny, kind, soft, and _warm_. Then she had changed.

Then she he had looked at him like-- like she had _enjoyed_ fooling him, like she _wanted_ to hurt him, like she didn't **_care_**.

Like he was **_nothing_**.

It had all seemed so real. _She_ had seemed so real. Of course, Jack was quite used to his dreams seeming and feeling real. Lucid dreams were another side effect of being half-angel. Leaning how to control them would be helpful but Sam and Dean didn't have any useful advice about dreams and Castiel simply didn't sleep. Jack wished he could just forget about his dream; delete it, like a game on his phone. But he couldn't. It just kept haunting him.

He wished he had an excuse to see Marty again and talk to her. He just wanted to make sure, again, that it truly had been just a dream. But she was back at the bunker, most likely still asleep at this hour and he was stuck in the Impala, still hours away from New-York. Eleven hours of driving and only half-way there.

" _Cheetos Flamin' Hot_ , okay. Next up, Jack it's your turn, 'part of the body', go." Sam's voice snapped Jack out of his thoughts, and he was grateful for the distraction.

"Um, toenails," Jack supplied. Sam chuckled and wrote the word down on the notepad in his lap.

"Cas, you're up. Adverb."

"Forcefully," Castiel replied.

"Okay, thanks," Sam acknowledged.

"I still don't see the point of this," Cas grumbled.

"Fun, Cas. It's for fun," Dean sighed, changing lanes. Cas just shrugged, rolling his eyes a bit before turning to stare out the window.

Before Sam could ask for another word, Jack's phone started ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

"Who's that?" Dean asked.

"It's Marty!" Jack replied, trying to conceal how happy he really was before sliding his finger across the answer button. "Hey Marty!"

" _Heya, puppy_ ," The girl on the other side of the phone greeted, calling him by the nickname she'd now decided was her favorite. On his end, Jack frowned. Marty sounded tired but there was something else about her voice that was just... Off.

"How are you?" Jack asked.

" _Oh, I'm fine. Just fine_ ," She answered. Jack was very worried now, something about her tone was very wrong.

"Are you sure?"

" _Mmhm. Could you do me a favor and put me on speaker_?" She requested.

"Yeah?"

" _Thanks, Puppy_."

Jack pressed the button and switched the phone to speaker. Sam shot him a questioning glance, but Jack just shrugged. On the other end, Marty took a deep breath.

" _I would just like to announce..._ " Marty paused, her disembodied voice was cool, calm, and absolutely collected.

" _That I hate you all_."

Those in the car glanced at each other in confusion.

"Marty, w-what?" Sam asked. Had she somehow caught wind of the adult’s suspicions?

" _Especially you, Sam Winchester_." Came the response.

"Why?" The four hunters asked at once.

" _Because I can't reach the flipping cereal, you enormous freaks of mother nature's creation_!"

A beat passed by in silence. Then another. Collectively, they almost made it.

But then Dean caught Sam's eye and it all went to Hell.

The four burst into uproarious laughter, the entire car shaking with the force of their cackling. Sam was doubled over and slapping his knee, Jack was biting his finger trying to stop the obnoxious snort he knew would come if he tried to inhale, and Dean could hardly keep his watering eyes on the road. Even Castiel was chuckling.

" _This isn't funny guys_."

The laughter continued.

" _Really_?"

More laughter.

" _Y'all suck_."

Jack sobered up then.

"Hey! What did _I_ do?" He protested. Sam and Dean kept on laughing as if this was the single most funny thing either of them had ever heard.

" _No, no. You're fine, sweetheart. You're under the six-foot mark, you're good. It's those walking towers of Babel I'm talking to_!" She said. Jack could picture her, standing with her hands on her hips and glaring at her phone.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Marty!" Sam managed to say between peals of laughter.

" _You said you'd move it down, Sam_."

"And I did!" Sam claimed.

" _By who's standards_?" Marty argued back. This comment sent Jack into another fit of giggles which won an annoyed sigh from the other side of the phone.

"Clearly not yours, shorty!" Dean called. Now he was just being antagonizing. Sam threw his head back, clutching his side as a new round of giggles hit him.

" _Laugh it up, fuzzball_ ," Marty said, quoting Han Solo.

"How-how tall are you anyway?" Sam giggled.

" _I'm four-foot-eleven_."

More hysterical laughing bombarded the phone's receiver and Jack hoped Marty didn't have the speaker pressed against her ear.

" _You know, you giants can say whatever you want, but only one of us could live in a hobbit hole, so I think I'm winning_."  
Dean's laughter came to a sudden halt. Noticing this, the others stopped laughing as well. Dean stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white.

"Dean?" Sam asked, wearily. Dean's reply was faint, bit still audible.

"Until this precise moment, Sammy, I never realized I wouldn't be able to be a hobbit," Dean said, sounding utterly horrified. Over the phone, it was Marty's turn to laugh hysterically.

"Dean, why does that matter?" Sam asked, shaking his head. Dean copied the action, shrugging.

"I-I don't know. But for some reason it-it just hurts. None of us could ever be hobbits, man; not even Jack, though he's pretty close."

More obnoxious laughter came from Marty's side of the phone and Jack squirmed in his seat, frowning. He found he didn't much like being the butt of Dean's new joke.

"It's not that funny," He mumbled.

" _Now you know how it feels_ ," Marty's voice hissed dramatically from the phone.

"Why don't you get yourself a ladder?" Castiel said, leaning towards the receiver in an attempt to be helpful. He was still grinning.

"Cas, I don't know if we have any," Sam whisper snickered.

" _I can't find one! Now, I'm trying to find a chair that isn't bolted to the floor_." Marty said, pouting a little.

"Try the library!" Dean managed, wiping at tears.

" _Thanks Dean. You're back on the nice list._"

"Does that mean I get one of those truffles when we get back?" Dean asked.

" _Sure_."

"Aw yeah!"

" _As for you, Sam; I hope you hit your head on every door frame and ceiling fan in New-York_!"

Jack briefly wondered if that was possible but dismissed the thought. It was probably just a joke. Probably.

"Now that's just mean," Sam said.

" _You deserve it. All eighteen flannel covered feet of you_." She deadpanned.

"Is that all or was there something else?" Dean asked, mostly done laughing now.

" _Yeah, pretty much. Have a nice time in New-York, Jack_."

"I will!" Jack grinned, waving at the phone even though he knew Marty couldn't see him.

" _Bye_!"

"Bye!"

It took only 4.297 seconds after Marty had hung up for the car to erupt with laughter again.  
(Jack knew; he counted.)

*******

"Why am I so short?" I mumbled in despair as I hung up the phone.

"Testify, sister, testify."

My breath caught in my throat; my blood ran cold. Every muscle from my head to my toes stiffened.

That voice. I knew that voice.

Slowly, I turned around, keeping my phone clenched in my hand.

Standing in front of me was a man. He was taller than me (who wasn't?) yet he looked shorter than Jack, if not by much. He had darker blond hair that was styled in a way that was long but not long enough to be called a mullet. He had an oval shaped face with thin lips and high, but not prominent, cheekbones. His intelligent, beady eyes were the color of sunshine though whisky and sparked with mischief as he looked me over, standing with his arms folded in a way that was relaxed and carefree.

So, this was how I was going to die. Good to know.

"I know how ya feel, honey cakes. Sammy is _definitely_ a moose, am I right?" He asked.

I didn't answer. I just bolted.

"Well, that's new." I heard him mutter as I raced from the library.

I dashed out into the hall and turned left then right then right again. I didn't really know where I was going of course, but that didn't matter. Running at all didn't really matter, if he had gotten into the bunker than there was no way I'd be able to outrun him. How had he even gotten in here?

I came to the hallway equivalent of a four way stop and made the mistake of pausing. The second I stopped, that man was in front of me. When I whipped around, he was behind me too. Then he was on my left and right. Four copies of himself blocked my way, I stood in the center. He must have thought I was as good as dead, but he didn't know I had a few metaphorical aces up my sleeve.

"Why does my life suck?!" I complained, feeling around my immediate vicinity for his mind. My power burst out and lunched towards him, but I reeled it back. I just needed to find him, not get in his head.

"I ask myself that every day," The man in front of me said. I smirked; he was trying to trick me, that was sort of his thing. But it wouldn't work on me. The real one was the one on my left, so I made a break straight forward.

I should have passed right through him. But I slammed into his chest at full force.

How was that possible? It was just an illusion, right?

The illusion smirked and tried to grab me, but I ducked out of the way, slipping under his arm and booking it towards the end of the hall.

My stomach lurched and I felt myself being pulled into the air. Laughter sounded from behind me and I peeked over my shoulder to see the man shaking his head as he approached me.

"New and double new! You are just _full_ of surprises aren't ya, kiddo?" He asked.

He made a twisting motion with his hand and my body revolved in the air to face him. I crossed my arms and glared at him, though I was sure I didn't look even remotely intimidating.

"So, how 'bout you tell me what all this running is for, because if I'm bein' honest, it's kinda hurting my feelings!" He said. Was he playing dumb or had he actually forgotten?

"Put me down, Loki," I growled. In front of me, the man's eyes widened. He looked... Genuinely shocked?

"Yeah, um, wrong religion there, sweet-pea."

"What?"

"I'm not Loki." He shrugged. Did this guy think I was stupid?

"Uh huh. Right. Well, my eyes tell me different." I spoke with as much sass as I could muster.

"Yeah, see, I sorta borrowed the jerk's face." The guy claiming, he wasn't Loki narrowed his eyes at me. I was getting under his skin. Good.

"Why would you steal _his_ ugly face?"

The guy frowned.

"Okay, one; I was low on options at the time. Two; he owed me. Three; I killed him so it's mine now and, honestly, that's just hurtful," He said. My mouth dropped open.

"He--You-- Loki i-is-- He's dead?" I was shocked.

"As a door nail."

"Who are you?" I asked, still dangling in the air. The not-Loki put a finger to his chin.

"Hmm. You know, I could ask you the same thing."

"Yeah, well I asked you first," I said, frowning. Now it was just a contest of sass.

"True." The guy pulled a lolli-pop from his jacket pocket and, after unwrapping it, stuck the candy in his mouth. "But you are in no position to be making demands." He gestured to my floating situation.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You suck," I said. He chuckled.

"Believe me when I say ' _you ain't seen nothin_ ' _yet_ '."

I raised my eyebrow higher. The guy's eyes widened, and he pulled the lolli-pop out of his mouth.

"You are _really_ good at that," He observed. I think he was genuinely impressed. I raised that eyebrow even higher, smirking.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," I mocked. Not-Loki sighed.

"Do I have to bust out the big guns and go all interrogation mode on you?" He asked. I frowned.

"Say what?"

The man rolled his eyes with a huff.  
Then he snapped.

I felt a tug bordering on painful in my gut and felt like I was being flipped upside down, then thrown sideways, then sent spinning, then pulled in every direction. Then I was falling but just before I hit the ground, I stopped.

When the world decided to stop being a roller-coaster, I could register that I was sitting in a cold metal chair. My eyes were squeezed shut and I intended to keep them that way. I felt like I had been turned inside out, torn in two, flipped around, sewed back together, and wrung out to dry. All of my insides were telling me how much they protested this sort of abuse and I wasn't arguing. In front of me, came the sound of someone pulling a lolli-pop out of their mouth. Just the thought of food after an ordeal like that was enough to turn my stomach, but with my enhanced senses, the smell of the sugar made me want to barf.

"I think I'm gonna hurl," I moaned.

"Ooh, uh, please don't. That-- that's just nasty." Despite still having my eyes closed, I knew this guy was standing on my left as I heard him shuffle back a bit.

"Your fault," I ground out through my teeth.

"You'll be fine, I promise. The nausea will pass, just give it a second," He said, patting me on the back.

The only response I gave was a couple rounds of gaging.

After several miserable minutes of dry heaving, I was finally able to sit upright and think properly. Opening my eyes, I took in my new setting. We were not in the bunker anymore. The room was dark and there was a one-way mirror in front of me and my hands were cuffed to a metal table.

I glared ferociously at the man who had put me through that ordeal. The guy was wearing one of those cheesy police outfits the guys in those horrible cop shows wear, mirrored sunglasses included. He tried to laugh me off, but I kept on glaring, using just a little bit of my power on him to amplify his guilt. The man pursed his lips, trying to hold on to his pride, but it did not work. After a few moments he threw his hands up in a sort of surrendering way.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry! Geez!"

"You're just lucky I hadn't had breakfast this morning, otherwise I totally would have puked." I stated, leaning back in my cold chair. I didn't get very far as my wrists were still cuffed to that metal table.

The man's face scrunched up and he tilted his head, studying me.

"You know, you're really good at that whole guilt trip thing," He said, intrigued.

"I know." I kept my voice cool calm and detached.

"How do you do it?"

I smirked.

"Not telling."

The guy huffed, turning to fix his hair in the one-way mirror. Without warning, he spun back around and slammed his palms down on the table.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW SAM AND DEAN?!"

~ _There must be something in the water_  
 _'Cause everyday it's getting colder_  
 _And if only I could hold you_  
 _You'd keep my head from going under~_

_Lyrics from: Bruises by Luis Capalldi_


	23. Sweet But A Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sort of inspired by Doctor Who...

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sweet But A Psycho

_~You're just like me, you're out your mind_

_I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind_

_You're tellin' me that I'm insane_

_Boy, don't pretend that you ain't just the same_

_Oh, she's sweet but a psycho_

_A little bit psycho_

_At night she screamin'_

_"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"_

_Oh, she's sweet..._

_But a Psycho~_

"HOW DO YOU KNOW SAM AND DEAN?!" He shouted.

It took effort, but I didn't flinch. I blinked and, slowly, raised that eyebrow again. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel the annoyance rising in his mind.

"Tell ya what," I said, putting on my best ' _let's make a deal_ ' face, "I'm a reasonable girl, so if you tell me just _one_ thing, then I'll tell ya anything you want to know."

"Hmmm..." The guy studied me, walking in a circle around my chair and eating his lolli-pop.

Normally, I'd be scared out of my wits. This entity in front of me, whoever he was, was clearly immensely powerful; warping reality on that scale isn't exactly a party trick. Just by looking at the scene around me, I knew this guy wasn't Loki. Loki was _never_ this powerful. The Norse god wasn't capable of a full-on reality shift. As long as you knew it was an illusion, Loki couldn't make his illusions solid. Whoever was talking to me now, however, had made four solid copies of himself. It would take an immense amount of raw power to do something like that. One would think that a being with this much power would scare me more than Loki just on principle.

But he didn't.

For some strange reason, he didn't. There was just something about this guy, quite opposite to the original owner of the face he was wearing, that told me he meant no real harm. I didn't want to mess with any more heads but a quick poke around his emotions told me that this guy was a friend to the Winchesters; he was fond of them actually. A part of him looked up to the Winchesters and another part felt like he owed them something. So, if I was their friend, then this entity wasn't going to harm me.

All mind reading and prior knowledge aside, I just wasn't intimidated by him. Maybe it was the cherry-flavored lolli-pop stuck in his mouth. Or maybe it was the height. I'm not one to talk about being vertically challenged but this guy was no Sam Winchester, that was for sure.

"It's up to you." I shrugged, spreading my hands. "But I want you to know, that I have literal **days** to sit here and not say a word."

The man chuckled and pulled the lolli-pop from his mouth.

"Well, I'd like _you_ to know that I am **_very_** good at getting people to talk." He paused, tilting his head to the side as if thinking about something. "Not as good as Castiel o'course. Now, _that_ _guy_ could make em' _sing_. Wowie!"

The man didn't seem to be making a threat as much as an observation. I could feel my nose scrunch up with discomfort for thoughts of what Castiel might do to me if he ever found out my secret. Would he torture me?

I pushed the thought away and wiped the discomfort from my face, replacing it with a smirk. Now was not the time for grim thoughts.

"I think you'll find that I have an extraordinary talent for saying ' _no_ '," I said, leaning forward and folding my hands together on top of the table.

"You think so?" He challenged, amused by the tiny child that thought she could beat him.

I shrugged.

"It's one of my charms. Besides, are you really gonna torture a kid?" I pointed out. I had to remember to use my physical age as the tool it was.

"Of course not!" The man scoffed, waving a hand, "That's low; even for me."

"Guess we're at a stalemate then!" I sighed.

"Hmm." The man twisted the stick of his lolli-pop in between his fingers. "What if I were to ask **really** nicely?"

"I'd say ' _no_ '."

"What if I said ' _please_ '?"

"I'd say ' _no_ '."

"What if I gave you **candy**?"

"I'd be tempted, then I'd be creeped out, then I'd say ' _no_ '." I grinned at him. The man frowned and pointed his lolli-pop at me accusingly.

"You know, for an eight-year-old or whatever you are, you sure don't act like a kid," He said, I couldn't see past his stupid reflective glasses but I thought he was narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Is this better?" I cleared my throat in a very mature way before giving him my best pouty frown and doe-eyed puppy look.

"Mommy tol' me nevur to take candwy fwum stwangurs," I said in an innocent baby voice.

"Hmmm. It's close, but you're still acting just a smidge too old. Maybe a ' _goo-goo ga-ga'_ would help!" He smirked. He'd turned my own sass against me. This guy was _good_. I kinda wanted to punch him.

"Nah, I don't think it would work," I said, smiling thinly.

"Aw, that's a shame. So how old are you really?" He asked.

"No."

"C'mon!"

"No."

"Geez, kiddo. You **are** really good at saying that, aren't you?" He tried.

I didn't answer. I just smiled at him, pleasantly. The man rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," He muttered. He turned to me. "Fine! What's your question, kid?"

I folded my hands in my lap and collected my thoughts. He couldn't read my mind, I knew. I felt like a sphinx of stone. Speaking as calmly as I could, I asked my question.

"Earlier, when I called you Loki, you said ' _wrong religion_ ' and you said you'd killed him; I'm guessing for a slice of revenge. So, my question for you is this: What's the name of the one that talks to you when you're all alone?"

The man shifted his weight and tugged at the collar of his stupid police outfit. The color drained from his face and all his muscles tightened. He clenched his lolli-pop in his teeth, pressing so hard that it shattered. Moving to grab another, he stuck quivering hands into his pockets, but he didn't remove them. The man raised an eyebrow at me and forced a laugh. He was uncomfortable, deeply so, and afraid of something. Afraid not of the thing itself, but the memory of it. Something was haunting him. I could see it in his eyes. All that time alone.

Using my power, I pulled on that fear.

"That's it?" He scoffed faking nonchalance. I shrugged, simply.

"That's it."

"Call me the Trickster." The man smirked. He ripped off those stupid sunglasses and leaned into a mocking sort of bow. "Pleasure to meet ya, kiddo! No, I don't answer fan-mail."

I tilted my head and kept smiling at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I didn't speak. The man's smirk shrank from his face as he slowly straightened back up, regarding me with a suspicious and cautious expression. His feet shifted him a little further away from me.

"What's that smile for?" He asked.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Trickster." I kept my voice that same unsettling calm and pulled harder on his fear, feeling it rise and crowd his mind. The guy calling himself the trickster pretended to think about my statement.

"Yeah, no; I'm pretty sure I did." He said, nodding. I smiled wider.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Your question doesn’t make sense, kid.” His voice was harsh and biting.

“Yes, it does.”

“Well, I sure as Hell don’t understand it.”

“Yes, you do.”

The man forced a laugh, but it only came off as nervous; he shook his finger at me.

“Are you a sphinx or something?”

"Only in the metaphorical sense, and you are not so clever as you think."

The man glared at me, his lip curling into a scowl. He leaned against the table and looked down at me. I'd made a wrong move; he was angry now, but I could still fix this.

"And _you_ are **way** too clever for a kid."

"You're right." I nodded.

"Ya gonna tell me why?"

I leaned forward, looking him dead in the eyes. I grasped onto his fear and yanked on it as hard as I could without making it too suspicious.

" **No**."

The man scowled, glaring down at me. I kept my face impassive and stared back up at him. It was a battle of wills. Who would be the first to look away? Who would be the first to break?

Not me.

The man cast his eyes to the ceiling, throwing his hands into the air.

"GABRIEL!" He shouted. "My name is Gabriel!”

“You’re the angel?”

“Archangel and yes. Ya happy?!" He asked bitingly.

I smiled again, this time in a much more childish way. 

"Yes."

I released my hold on Gabriel’s emotions and folded my hands in my lap. Gabriel nodded briskly. His stupid police getup disappeared, replaced by his outfit from earlier, a white t-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and a pair of standard jeans. Across the table from me, a second metal chair appeared out of nowhere and Gabriel pulled it out and sat. Folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop as I had previously done, he studied my face.

“My turn now, right?” He asked.

“That was the deal,” I replied with a shrug, returning to my usual sarcastic ways.

“Alrighty. You like games, _kid_?” He spoke the word as if he didn’t believe it was true. “Let’s play a game.”

“Ooh goodie! What game? Is it checkers? I’m great at checkers.” I rubbed my hands together in faux excitement.

“It’s easy,” Gabriel smirked. “You think you’re clever? Let’s see how clever. I ask you up to fifteen questions per topic, and you have to answer them. But, here’s the catch: You can only answer with one word. Got it?”

I was about to open my mouth to speak but, taking a look at the expression on the archangel’s face told me that this confirmation of my understanding was his little game’s first round. I pursed my lips, reforming my reply.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why only one word?” He clarified.

“Yeah.” 

Gabriel’s eyes widened a bit and he nodded as if understanding something. 

“Well, because I’m a professional liar and I know that it is much harder to tell a lie if you can’t provide details. You lie, you lose. And I don’t have to read your mind to know if you’re lying. So, one word,” He explained. I nodded.

“Ready to play?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, we were sitting in the bunker’s library. Gabriel was smirking at me. The game was on.

It was time to see if I was smarter than a five-billion-year-old cosmic entity. My bets were on no.

*******

“Let’s start out easy, shall we? How did you meet the Winchesters?” Gabriel asked.

He watched her face. This game was a test, it was all about the words she chose and the way she said them. The more abstract the child’s answers, the cleverer the kid was. Details of the story she was barely telling registered in the Archangel’s mind; one after the other, like lines on a page.

“Alleyway,” The child answered. **Interesting already.**

“What happened in the alleyway?”

“Salvaged.” **Thinks herself lesser in value.**

“From what?”

“Idiots.” **Views some as beneath her. Strange.**

“Why did the idiots attack you?”

“Inebriated.” **Drunk. Why not say drunk? Why choose the word inebriated?**

“Were the inebriated idiots all the Winchesters salvaged you from?”

“Abridged.” **Another abstract answer. Yes!**

“What else was in that alleyway?”

“Suffering.”

“Physical pain or otherwise? Elaborate.”

“All-encompassing.” **Hyphenating, clever move.**

“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater! Who said you could hyphenate?” Gabriel spoke accusingly. The girl shrugged with an innocent expression on her face.

“Unstipulated.” **Exploiting loopholes; perfect.**

“So why was this suffering of yours all-encompassing? What was causing it?” He asked, getting back to the point.

“Shiver.” **Not shivering but shiver. Why only say shiver?**

“Were you in danger of dying by hypothermia?”

“Agony.”

“But not death?” This question was more directed toward himself, but the girl answered anyway.

“Enduring.” **Fierce pain but not death.**

“Enduring for what?”

“Victorious.”

“Why do you want to win?”

“Obligation.”

“Obligation to what?”

“Brother.”

“Why?”

“Nevermore,” She said, coolly.

**Edger Allen Poe: The Raven: Verse 14; Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”**

**Time to switch topics.**

“Why did the Winchesters help you?”

She shrugged.

“Screamed.” **Simple enough. Disappointingly simple.**

“Why were you in the alleyway?”

The girl paused.

“Caution.” She said, slowly. **Yet she had been attacked. That was an interesting answer.**

“Caution for what?”

“Harm.”

Gabriel nodded, that was a little confusing, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.

“So, were you looking for the Winchesters, or did they find you by chance?”

The girl thought about this for a bit before answering. Just the pause she had taken was interesting, that meant the answer was more complicated than a yes or a no.

“Watching,” She decided.

“Why were you watching?”

“Waiting.” **This was getting better by the second.**

“Waiting for what?”

She paused again.

“Seek.” There was a secret smile in her eyes when she answered this time. **She thinks she has an advantage. Maybe she does…**

“Where was this?”

“Michigan.”

“What town?” 

It was a trick question; her answer would have to be two words; there was no avoiding it. Only a few minutes into his little game and he was already trying to trip the girl up. That wasn’t cheating or anything; if this kid thought that beating him was going to be a cakewalk then she had another thing coming.

“Two,” She replied.

“The town’s name is two words?” He asked her only to be sure of the context.

“Yes.”

“Okay, answer the question anyway. If I don’t know the town when you give me the word, then you lose.” He challenged. The girl took a second to think.

“Ferry.”

“Was the town Copper Harbor, Michigan?” 

The girl grinned.

“Yep.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and nodded, the smirk on his face growing wider. This kid _was_ clever. He was getting excited. For the first time in he didn’t know how many millennia, Gabriel had a decent game to play, and for the first time in just as many years, he finally had someone to play with. For as long as the archangel could remember, he had loved a good game. He had always relished the challenge of solving a brilliant puzzle or capturing an opponent’s king. When chess had been invented, he had become a master. Gabriel adored beating people at things. He loved to best them, yes, but not only that. He loved to teach them something too; to show them how they could be better. But for as long as he had lived, Gabriel had never been given a real challenge. His brothers could have given him one of course, but they were so predictable and they had always been fighting. They had never cared to _really_ play with him; not the sort of game he had wanted. A game of wits. A game of minds.

For someone who had been stuck on Earth as long as he had, things just got **so boring**. It wasn’t as if he could leave the planet; despite how much he had desperately wanted to. He had to stay and honor the terms of his witness protection agreement with Loki. After a while, no game on the planet could capture his interest or cure his horrid boredom. The only minor distraction he’d had was the humans.

Gabriel thought humans were wonderful things. Though, for a much different reason than his little brother, Castiel, did. Castiel loved humans for their hearts; Gabriel loved them for their minds. Not all of them were entertaining of course; he wasn’t lucky enough for that. The fact of his life was that there was only a disappointing handful of interesting individuals out there to entertain him. The archangel had had a hay-day when he’d met Einstein! (And you wonder why everyone thought he was crazy.) Though it was somewhat fun for him to watch the boring majority of humanity stumble and fall whenever he tried to teach them a lesson, it wasn’t ever enough. 

Gabriel had longed for someone, anyone, even a human, he could play a game with. Now, suddenly, here she was. Someone clever, someone who knew what clever meant, someone who actually _wanted_ to play a real game. Gabriel had seen it in her eyes the moment he’d given her the chance to ask him her question. She was bored too. This was exhilarating for her too. 

As if all that wasn’t good enough, Gabriel couldn’t read her mind. This fact probably should have concerned him more than it did, but he couldn’t focus on a tiny detail like that. No, this was too good of a chance to pass up. Not even his nephew had been able to give him a decent challenge. Gabriel was too excited to focus on something so seemingly trivial. He was excited, he was high on the thrill of the chase. No one ever said you couldn’t fool an archangel, and Gabriel didn’t know it, but he had been fooled. He had been fooled by a tiny girl with the face of a child.

Another entity as powerful as he was would most likely consider it beneath them to play a game of wits with a child, to be challenged by a child. But not Gabriel. He had been waiting for a chance like this for all of his existence; age simply didn’t matter to him anymore. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t curious, however.

This was his element. This was his obsession. This was his chance. It was time to have some fun.

“Now all that’s out of the way, let’s ask some things about you. What’s your name?”

“Marty.”

“Nice name. How old are you, Marty?”

“Enough.” The girl smirked. **She was good. But he was just a little better.**

“How many years have you been alive?”

“Fourteen.” That was her answer. There was darkness in his eyes this time. **Interesting.**

“How many years have you existed?”

A look of fear crossed her face, like a deer caught in headlights. But the look vanished as soon as it came and was replaced with a confident smirk.

“Conservation.” She answered.

Gabriel cursed internally. The law of conservation of energy; energy is neither created nor destroyed. Of course, she would say something like that.

“Okay, miss-smarty-pants. How many years have you been aware of your existence?”

Marty swallowed and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Nineteen.” **Now they were getting somewhere.**

“Riddle me this, Batman. How can you be fourteen and nineteen at the same time?”

She glared at her folded hands.

“ _Trapped_.” The way she stressed the word told Gabriel that she was more than resentful of her condition.

“Trapped how? Elaborate,” He demanded.

“Skin,” She said, nearly growling.

“Elaborate,” He repeated, nodding.

“Cage,” Her voice quivered.

“Why?” He leaned forward now, waiting. This would be the crucial response. Marty looked up, there were ghost tears in her eyes.

“Neverland.”

**Very interesting. Time for a new line of questions.**

“Why did you come with the Winchesters?”

“Invited.”

“Which one invited you?” 

She smiled a little.

“Jack.”

“Why did he ask you to come here?”

“Protection.”

“What led him to offer you protection?”

“Mendicant.”

**Mendicant. Definition: One who begs. So, did she ask to come or was she invited? And if she was begging, that begs the question of why.**

“What were you begging for?”

“Life.”

“Why were you begging for your life.”

Marty tilted her head.

“Guillotine.” 

**Her use of the word guillotine could be a metaphor, or it could something very literal. Gabriel had the suspicion that it meant a little of both.**

“What did Jack offer to protect you from?” 

She shrugged.

“Monster,” She said as if it was obvious.

“Yours or someone else’s?”

“Everyone’s,” Marty whispered.

**There it was. That was it. That was the clue.**

Gabriel laughed; he was winning.

“Tell me, Marty, how long ago was your family massacred?” He asked. Marty looked like she’d been stabbed in the gut and Gabriel felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off. It was nothing compared to his excitement.

“Five,” She replied after a moment.

“Five what?”

“Years,” Her voice cracked. Gabriel nodded.

“How have you spent those five years?”

“Alone.”

“If you’ve been on your own for so long, why accept help now?” He prodded.

“Tired.” 

“What are you tired of?”

“Running.”

“That’s the practical reason, what’s the other reason?”

Marty pursed her lips.

“Name.” 

“Of what?”

“Character.”

“Say it.”

“Peter Pan.” **Two references to the same story in one conversation. Definitely not a coincidence. She was comparing herself to something, but what was it? What was he missing?**

“Okay pumpkin, just a few more questions; then we’re done ‘cause I don’t have all day.”

“Nice.” She smiled.

"Why should I believe a word you've said to me?"

The girl grinned in a way that was meant to be friendly, but fell critically short.

"Psycho."

That response unnerved the five billion year-old archangel. _**What was this kid?**_

“What do you think of Jack?” He continued, he didn't miss a beat.

“Viridity,” She replied. **Viridity; noun: Naïve innocence.**

“What do you think of his parentage?”

“Irrelevant.” Gabriel had heard many words used to describe his family. Irrelevant was definitely not one of them.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?”

Marty’s answer was unexpected.

“Back.” Her voice wasn’t desperate or wistful; it was cold and hard.

“Describe yourself. Who are you, Marty?” 

She had to think about this one. When she had her answer, the genius girl grinned. It wasn’t in a happy way.

“Domino.”

“Alright, one last question, then you’re free to go.” Gabriel leaned forward, his face a grim mask. “Do you have a crush on my nephew?”

Surprised by his question, Marty blinked but before long a smirk split across her cheeks and mischief gleamed in her eyes.

“Talent.” That was all she said. Gabriel knew that meant; ‘ _The answer may be yes, but I will say no until the day I die_.’ The archangel reached a hand across the table; Marty grasped and shook it.

“Good game, kiddo. Mind telling me where Sam and Dean are now?”

“They’re on their way to New-York. They’ll be there in a few hours,” Marty said.

“Cool beans. Now go get some breakfast and I’ll see ya later.” 

With a nod of his head, Gabriel was gone. The reason why he had originally come to the bunker was completely forgotten. Now he had only one thought on his mind. 

He needed to find Sam and Dean.

He needed to warn them about the girl they were protecting.

When it came to individuals, there had never been something that Gabriel couldn’t figure out.

Never. Not one thing. Until now.

_ Gabriel had **no idea** what that child was. _

That thought―that question mark unnerved him. That notion shook him down to his very core. 

That blank space child, that missing piece little girl.

She was more terrifying to him than anything he had known in five billion years.

_~You're just like me, you're out your mind_

_I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind_

_You're tellin' me that I'm insane_

_Boy, don't pretend that you ain't just the same_

_Oh, she's sweet but a psycho_

_A little bit psycho_

_At night she screamin'_

_"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"_

_Oh, she's sweet..._

_But a Psycho~_

_Lyrics from: Sweet But A Psycho by Ava Max_


	24. Quite Miss Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POOR JACK!!!! As for my readers... Oh, you have feelings? I'm so sorry! Wait. No. No, I'm not. I enjoy your pain.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Quite Miss Home

_~I'm in another city  
I got nobody with me  
And it just really hit me_

_That I quite miss home  
And I miss you telling me  
To leave my shoes at the door  
'Cause you just swept the floor  
And the dirt drives you crazy  
Yeah, I quite miss home  
'Cause it feels like poetry  
When the rain falls down on the window  
While you're in my arms  
And we're watching the TV  
Yeah, I quite miss home  
Yeah, I quite miss home~_

** Warning: Heavy anxiety. If you trigger easily this chapter may not be for you. You have been warned. **

*******

Jack decided he did not like New-York.

At first, he had been enthralled. When they finally entered the city, Jack was in a marveling sort of mood and he was sure that nothing in the world could dampen it.

The young Nephilim was bedazzled and amazed as he stared up at the enormous buildings and the way they towered majestically over everything as the sun gleamed off their steel and glass construction. They were so big, he wondered what it might be like to stand at the top and look down over the world. Dean wove the Impala through the teeming city streets at a pace even a snail would find laughable; he and Sam were arguing about something to do with parking the car but Jack didn't really care. The celestial being in the back seat kept his face practically laminated to the window. Jack had never known so many taxis even existed; he hadn't thought it possible! How could there be enough people for them all?

This place had to be the polar opposite of Copper Harbor. Copper Harbor had been dead and frozen; meanwhile, this city was so full of life, it couldn't stop even if the whole world decided to. Jack shook his head in bewilderment at it all as the Impala rounded a corner and drove up a large ramp into a nondescript grey building. He recognized the building as a parking garage, he had seen a few but had never been inside one. Dean hated them; he said he couldn't sleep as long as his baby was parked in, what he referred to as 'the car equivalent of a take n' bake'... whatever that was supposed to mean.

Dean was grumbling about it even as he drove the Impala up the spiraling ramp to one of the higher floors. The twisting ramp spiraled up and up and up, around and around and around, again and again, and again. Jack pressed his lips together in a tight frown, his stomach was twisting with the motion of the car and that was not an experience he wanted to remember. Dean parked Baby behind a pole in what he hoped was the least noticeable spot of the parking garage, still complaining about his beloved car being at risk. So naturally, Jack was confused as to why they were there. This didn't seem like the sort of place they would be able to find the witch. It was too dark, too quiet, too empty.

"Is this where we're meeting Rowena?" He asked doubtfully, climbing out of the back seat.

The two hunters and their angel companion did the same, their respective doors slamming shut in unison with a raucous bang that resounded in Jack's ears, its offensive volume seemingly doubled by the stark cavernous space. It was too loud. It made Jack flinch and he made sure to shut his door much quieter than the others had. Castiel noticed, frowning, but he didn't mention it.

"No, Jack," The Seraph answered, "Rowena requested to meet us in Times Square."

"Oh, okay." Jack nodded his understanding, but it didn't take long for the follow-up question to come to his mind and form the characteristic crease between his eyebrows. "Then what are we doing here?"

"Cars aren't the most convenient way of traveling in New-York, Jack. We're gonna have to walk to Times Square," Sam explained, giving the Nephilim a small smile as he pressed the call button for the elevator.

"Alright," Jack said, wandering curiously to the edge of their floor in the parking garage.

Approaching it, Jack could feel the force wind against his face as it attacked the side of the building. They must have been quite high up. Jack hadn't ever been very high before unless that time with the cocaine counted. What would the world look like from up where he was now? He looked over the edge of the concrete lip, observing the streets below.

The streets were far, far, _far_ below.

Jack gasped. His hands latched onto the metal railing, clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted to look out at the city, but he just couldn't take his eyes off the ground. The distance between him and the ground seemed to stretch and Jack felt the concrete sway beneath his feet. He felt certain he was going to fall. He wanted to move but he couldn't, he was frozen, rooted to the spot. He gasped for air, trying to calm himself, but the air felt too thin all the way up there. Jack had never been so high before, he didn't think he wanted to go any higher.

Some part of his mind registered the dinging elevator, but his body didn't want to move. He felt like if he moved even one inch he would tumble to the tarmac.

One inch and kersplat!

Bye-bye Jack Kline.

Becoming a pavement pancake was definitely one thing he did not want to experience. He was okay with dying, just not like that.

"Jack! You comin'?" Dean's voice snapped the boy from his daze. The world stopped swaying like a rocking horse and Jack managed to look away from the tarmac and cast his gaze over his shoulder. Dean was holding the elevator door open for him with an expectant look.

"Um, yes!" The Nephilim detached his grip from the steel railing and shuffled over to the elevator. Later that day, an elderly businessman would look at the railing and notice two deformations in the shape of a young man's hands. This elderly man would scoff to himself and mutter something unintelligible about kids these days and their modern art.

Jack hadn't been in very many elevators and the ones he had been in had never really bothered him. Though now that had seen firsthand just how high from the ground, he and his four companions really were, Jack was sure to grip his phone tight in his pocket and step carefully over the gap between the floor of the elevator and the concrete. He had seen one too many movies where people lose their phones to the depths of elevators; he didn't want that to happen to him.

Dean cast one last pained glance at his baby before letting the stainless-steel doors slide shut. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sam glared at him, holding up a finger.

"One more word about your car, Dean and I swear I'll take a sledgehammer to it myself," He threatened. Sam looked very serious. Dean shook his head, fearfully.

"No. You wouldn't hurt her, Sammy. You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," Sam whispered, dangerously, staring Dean down.

The younger brother won the staring contest and Dean shut up about the car. Jack chuckled at their antics but stopped as soon as the elevator shuddered and started moving. The boy's breath caught in his throat; the machine's movement pulled unnaturally at his stomach making him want to groan in discomfort but he kept his mouth shut; he wouldn't want to worry anyone. Unfortunately, his tight frown caught Castiel's attention.

"Are you alright, Jack?" He asked worriedly. The angel didn't like the pale color overtaking the boy's face or the thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

"I'm fine," Jack said, a little too quickly.

"You sure?" Dean pushed, "You look a little pale, kid."

"I said I'm fine!" The boy snapped.

The others in the elevator glanced at one another with concern; it wasn't like Jack to lash out.

"Uh, Jack? I-" Sam started. Jack sighed. He hadn't meant to snap at them.

"Sorry. I'm okay, really." He reassured. Then he frowned, looking down at his feet. "I think I'm afraid of heights."

"That's okay, Jack. Everybody's afraid of something," Dean said, clapping the boy on the back.

"Cough- Airplanes! -Cough!" Sam said, clearing his throat. Dean glared at him.

"Should I mention the clowns, Sammy?" Sam didn't find that very funny. "That's what I thought," Dean said as the elevator doors opened.

Nobody noticed the four hunters as they walked out of the parking garage and out onto the street. They weren't special; they were just four more people in a **really** big city. The street was tight, and the buildings were a mess. It seemed there was no order to anything; brick buildings short and old stood squished between enormous modern concrete constructions. The cars crawled along the street and there was a lot of honking and cursing.

' _I can handle this.'_ Jack told himself. _'I'll be fine.'_

"Stay close to me, Jack. It is extremely easy to get lost in this city and if you lose sight of us, even for a second, you may not be able to find us again," Castiel warned the Nephilim, feeling like the father he had never really had the chance to be. Jack smiled. After all, how hard could it be? He had been in large cities before, though none quite so big as New-York.

"I'll be careful. And if I do get lost, I'll just search for Sam's head and I'm sure I'll be able to find you," Jack said, grinning up at his father figure. Jack had always thought the world of Castiel. Cas chuckled.

"Well, if that strategy doesn't work then just head back to the Impala, alright?"

"Sure." Jack nodded. Everything would be fine. Cas smiled tightly; he was worried.

"Jack, are you sure you want to do this?" He asked. Jack frowned, slightly offended.

"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?" He replied, skeptically. His brows pushing together. The Seraph sighed, trying to find the right words.

"Times Square- well, it's a lot. It could be... overwhelming and I-" Jack cut him off.

"You don't think I can handle it?" Jack's tone darkened. He had meant it as a question, but it had ended up sounding more like a statement. Jack couldn't help himself; he was offended. Besides, the headache growing at the back of his skull didn't exactly help.

"No," Castiel defended, "I'm just worried that-"

"What? That I'll lose it? That I'll **hurt** someone?!" Jack glared at the man in the trench-coat. He had thought Castiel had more faith in him.

"Jack, I didn't mean it like that," Cas sighed, patiently. He knew Jack could sense the emotions and thoughts of the people around him and even if the boy himself didn't realize it, he was letting those thoughts and emotions get to him.

"You said you believed in me," Jack accused him.

"I _**do**_! I just think that you should-"

"I'm not a child!" Jack insisted, raising his voice.

"I know that, but I-"

"I made it in the apocalypse world just fine without you! I think I can make it in New-York without you too!" Jack wasn't sure where this anger was coming from. It must have been the headache; it was pounding and spreading further in his head. He blinked a few times, but the pain wouldn't go away. So, Jack chose not to focus on it, instead, he chose to focus on the street ahead of him. He had to prove that he was ready for things like this. He had to prove he wasn't weak.

The streets twisted and turned and doubled back on themselves; after only a few minutes, Jack had no idea which way the four of them had come from. Every way looked just the same as the last yet completely different at the same time. How was that even possible? Jack was so lost; he didn't even know north from south or east from west and everything was so close yet so far away. Where were they going? Did Sam and Dean know where they were going? How far were they going to have to walk?

The buildings towered over him; they were so high. How were they not crashing down? Jack had seen what would happen if a plane crashed into a building like that. What if a plane crashed into one of them right now? Would it fall on him?

None of these buildings matched. Why didn't they match? Who had allowed this? They looked like they had been thrown into a box, shaken up, and then smashed all together on a bookshelf. All these buildings were just too close together. It wasn't right. There needed to be space. He _needed_ space. But there was **no** _space_. There were just shops on top of shops next to businesses on top of businesses and anything else was residential.

When did it end? Would it ever end?

The tight street was closing in on him. This city was trying to swallow him. It was a trap. It had to be a trap! Everywhere Jack looked there was just another dead end; there was just more steel and glass and brick and concrete. There wasn't even any air between the buildings. There needed to be air. He needed air. He needed to breathe. He needed space, he needed air, he needed to breathe.

_ He needed it **right now.** _

Jack rounded a corner and for a split second, he thought the city had opened up, that it was letting him go. But he was wrong. He was oh so wrong.

So, this was Times Square.

Jack blinked rapidly against the onslaught of sunlight that now scorched his eyes. There was a lot more steel and glass here and the sunlight reflected off of every surface a hundred times. Everywhere he looked huge billboards with flashing lights and offensive, obnoxious colors demanded his attention. Soaring skyscrapers stood above it all, dark and imposing; they glared down at Jack like sentinels stationed to make sure he didn't run.

He wanted to run.

The competing smells of dozens of restaurants mixed together, assaulting his nose. Somewhere off to his left, a tall pipe jutted from the middle of the street, coughing and spewing noxious fumes over the heads of all. With a change of the wind, the smog was blown into his face, choking him for a moment before deciding to move on and torture another poor unsuspecting soul. Overshadowing the other smells was the omnipresent stench of burning gasoline from well over a thousand different cars. People kept getting out of them. People needed to stop getting out of them.

There were too many people in the already overcrowded space. The bodies were packed along the walkways like sardines in a can. There were so many of them. They were hardly people at all, they were all bundled up in hats and coats and scarves and Jack couldn't see their faces. He could only see their eyes, glaring, staring, and angry. Why did they all hate him? Had he done something wrong?

Sam, Dean, and Cas moved swiftly through the crowd, dodging oncoming pedestrians with little effort. Jack couldn't keep up with them. Pools of frozen water and various other liquids were spilled haphazardly across the pavement; they sent him slipping and sliding off balance. Bodies, indistinguishable from one to the next, slammed into him, pushing and shoving and sending him stumbling back. Jack was being forced further and further away from his companions. Every person looked just the same. Dean and Cas had completely disappeared and even Sam's head was beginning to blend into the mob. Jack tried to jump and peer over the heads of strangers, but it seemed like everyone was so much taller than him. Even the ones who he could tell were women, wore heels long enough to stand taller than him. The bodies clustered around Jack, pressing in on him, caging him, trapping him.

He wanted out.

But they wouldn't let him out.

He couldn't get out!

He wanted to run.

"Sam! Dean! Wait up!" He tried to call out, but his voice drowned in all the noise.

Jack was drowning in all the noise. Voices screamed at him to be more careful, to watch where he was going, to get out of the way but Jack didn't even know what direction to apologize to; the harsh shouts seemed to come from all around him. They were so loud, so angry. Why were they so angry at him? What had he done wrong?

All the noise bombarded his sensitive ears. There was so much. It was so loud. Cars were honking, music was blaring, advertisements were babbling, people were talking, people were shouting, feet kept drumming, sirens kept wailing. There was a child somewhere crying for his mother.

Jack couldn't take it. He needed to find Sam or Dean or Cas. He needed to find them now!

He desperately searched the mob for signs of familiarity. Up ahead of him, he could see the top of Sam's brown hair. Jack fought his way through the surging, endless bodies. He reached out grabbing onto Sam's arm. The man whirled around, his fist snapping out and catching Jack in the chest, sending him crashing to the freezing pavement. Jack looked up in a daze.

"You're not Sam," He choked out, brokenly. He had lost them. He had lost his family.

"Hell no! Did somebody lose their mommy?" The man mocked, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

No.

No. This couldn't _happen_.

He couldn't be lost.

Not again.

Jack struggled to his feet, spinning wildly in a circle. Everything was a blur.

It was too bright.

It was too loud.

It was too much!

"Get out of the way!"

"Watch it, kid!"

"Guys I really don't have time for this!"

"Hey, I'm walkin' here!"

"Can you please just-"

"I thought I told you to-"

"Never mind I'll just-"

"-an I never even-"

"-bout it!"

All these voices, they kept on talking. They needed to stop talking.

Why wouldn't anyone stop talking?!

It was all too bright, too loud, too close. He needed to breathe. He couldn't breathe!

"Go away!" Jack whimpered, trying to make it so.

Jack fell to his knees, clamping his hands down over his ears. But the noise still did not end. He could hear the thoughts of everyone around him. Every thought was banging and echoing around inside his head. It hurt! The pain boiled from the base of his skull and encased his mind. It needed to stop. Why couldn't it stop? He just wanted it to stop!

He couldn't do this. This wasn't like the apocalypse world. There was nothing quiet here. He needed help. He needed someone to help him. He needed someone to tell him what to do.

He wanted to go home where it was calm and quiet. Jack's longing to go back to the bunker stemmed from the acute sense of wrongness coming off everything around him. The wrongness sunk into his bones and pained every part of him. He missed home. He just wanted to go home.

But Jack couldn't focus. He couldn't think. He couldn't go home. He was stuck here. He was trapped here.

"Just go away!" He moaned. It wasn't working. Something was broken. Was it him?

The swarm kept coming, bearing down on him, attacking him.

Why were they attacking him?

** 'They all hate you.' **

Why did they hate him?

** 'They know what you did.' **

Why did they want to hurt him?

' **Because you hurt people.'**

He didn't understand.

He couldn't do this.

He needed out.

' _I can't do this. I can't do this!'_

_ 'Ican'tdothis! Ican'tdothisican'tdothis!' _

_ 'I can't- I can't- I can't _ -'

"Please stop!" He groaned.

Nothing stopped. It just kept going, kept growing. Getting louder, getting closer. More and more and more.

Everything was crowding around him. Nothing would leave him alone. Nothing would go away. He just wanted to be left alone. Why couldn't it all go away?

The bodies, there were too many of them. They were too close to him. He couldn't get away. They needed to get away.

' _It's too loud! Let me go! It's too much! Let me go home! Please! I wanna go home!_ '

Home.

He needed home.

_ 'Lost... Trapped... Forever...' _

But where was home?

' _I don't know!_ '

' _I can't see_!'

' _It's_ _too_ _loud!_ '

' _Let_ _me go!_ '

_ 'Castiel, where is he?' _

_ 'He's gone... He's lost... I'm lost... I lost him...' _

_ 'Always lost... Always messing up... Always my fault... All my fault...' _

' _All MY FAULT!'_

_ 'I'm lost... I can't get home... I can't go home...' _

_ 'I can't... I can't... I can't' _

Too much.

Too close.

Too loud.

' _I CAN'T DO IT_!'

It all needed to go away.

" **GET AWAY FROM ME**!" The angel boy screamed.

Just like that, everything did.

A blast of all that untamed energy detonated outward from him. All that strength, all that power exploded in a pressure wave that slammed into anyone in a ten-foot radius of the boy, tossing them away as if they were nothing more than leaves in a summer storm.

Glass shattered.

People screamed.

And Jack Kline could smell the blood.

~ _I'm in another city_

_ I got nobody with me _

_ And it just really hit me _

_ That I quite miss home _

_ And I miss you telling me _

_ To leave my shoes at the door _

_ 'Cause you just swept the floor _

_ And the dirt drives you crazy _

_ Yeah, I quite miss home _

_ 'Cause it feels like poetry _

_ When the rain falls down on the window~ _

_ While you're in my arms _

_ And we're watching the TV _

_ Yeah, I quite miss home~ _

_ Lyrics from: Quite Miss Home by James Arthur _


	25. Turning Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things can't go right all the time...
> 
> Also, tiny gore warning... its nothing crazy though.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Turning Out

~ _This is gonna break your heart_

_I'm so sorry, yeah I know_

_This is gonna break your heart_

_Is this all that life's about?_

_Tryna love how you turn out_

_I don't love it much at all_

_I don't think I love it much at all~_

"Sweet dark-eyed mother of Sullest, Marty! You're an idiot!" Isaac exclaimed, appearing as soon as that Gabriel guy had left.

"Thank you for your input, Mr. I-touch-burning-stove-tops! You're just the _king_ of wisdom, aren't you?" I replied sarcastically. I picked up a chair from the library and moved with it into the kitchen to help me reach the cereal. Isaac followed behind me and I could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"That was _one_ time and that's not the point!" Isaac defended.

I didn't look back at him as I continued into the kitchen.

"Then what's the point?" I placed the chair on the ground and stepped onto it. Isaac crossed his arms.

"The _point_ is that you are stupid."

I raised an eyebrow as I considered my cereal options.

"I am? Huh, good to know." I selected the box of Crunch Cookie Crunch and hopped off my makeshift step ladder.

"Yeah, you are," Isaac said, glaring at me.

"Wonderful, thanks for telling me. I enjoy our conversations," I deadpanned, pouring my cereal.

"Marty, I'm serious. What is wrong with you?"

"Not sure 'bout that, man. I mean, can I list ' _undead blood-sucker_ ' as a clinical impairment?" I shrugged, lifting a spoon full of cookie product to my face. Isaac was not amused. With a flick of his wrist, my spoon flew from my hand and hovered in the air between us. I frowned at him. "Not cool, bro. I'm adding ' _annoying psychic ghost brother_ ' to the impairments list."

"Why do you always have to be such a showoff, Marty?" Isaac sighed, speaking quietly now. I huffed, setting my cereal bowl down and turning away from my brother. I gripped the edges of the counter, letting my head hang down; I could feel the bitter smile stretch across my face.

"You know why," I answered, matching his quiet tone.

"Well, it needs to stop. You don't have to prove anything to these hunters, or any of their friends. In fact, the less you prove, the better," Isaac said.

"What does it matter?" I mumbled.

"What does it matter?" Isaac repeated, stepping closer, "Marty, this life and death! That's sort of important!"

"Is it?" I wondered.

"Of course it is! If these guys think you're hiding something, then they won't stop until they find out what it is. You won't be able to dodge their suspicion for very long. If they find out, they _will_ kill you," Isaac warned.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, "I mean, today, tomorrow, in six months; what's the difference? They'll kill me. It doesn't matter the day or the time. You were right. I should never have come. Why should I try?"

"Because I don't want you to die. **Because _you_ don't _deserve_ to die**!" Isaac's voice was steel and his eyes were iron.

"Why not? Why not just get it over with?" I whispered, shaking my head.

"Because I was wrong, Marty," He said. I looked up, shocked. "I was wrong."

"That's a first," I chuckled, bitterly.

"These hunters _are_ different. If you can gain their trust, then maybe you can convince them not to kill you when the time comes." Isaac seemed hopeful.

It had been a long time since I had seen hope in those dead eyes. He had tried for so long to give me hope. But he had never really believed in anything he told me. His encouragement was like a heart and lung machine, like something with no life of its own struggling to keep another body alive. He was like my flotation device in a raging black ocean; to keep my head above the water, Isaac had to drown. He kept sacrificing himself for me. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve his hope.

"If I were in their place, I'd kill me. I'm a monster, Isaac. They won't see me as anything else. _I_ don't see me as anything else. There's no getting around that." I smiled at my brother weakly. But that spark of hope in his eyes continued to burn.

"But there **_is_** , Marty," Isaac insisted, "There is! I know how smart you are. Why won't you look? Why won't you see it?"

"See what?" I breathed, achingly. I was tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of dreaming. Tired of living.

"These maniacs are harboring the literal devil's child and you think, given time, they won't see the good in you?" Isaac stared into my eyes, searching for any sign of hope. But I had none left.

"They won't. They won't even try."

"But they can't deny what's right in front of them! They'll see what you show them."

"They'll see what they _want_ to see, Isaac!" I cried. I blinked away tears, gesturing wildly at my own body, "They won't see _me;_ they'll see a blood-thirsty monster. They won't see the helpless little girl from that alleyway; they'll see a threat. They won't see me as their friend; they'll see me as the kid that somehow fooled and lied to them! They'll see what they want to see. And they will _hate_ me for it."

"You don't know that! All you have to do is control yourself. When they find out, you will be your proof. You can show them that you would never hurt anybody; that you are good." Isaac tried to grasp my hands but they passed straight through.

"I won't be able to control myself, not around Jack, not for long." I shook my head

"Why not?" Isaac asked.

"The kid smells like candy, Isaac. All the time. How am I supposed to resist that?" I spread my hands as if to catch an answer and Isaac opened his mouth to reply but he was cut off.

*******

The explosion was silent.

One second, Times Square had been calm- at least as calm as Times Square can be and that is to say bustling, loud, and extremely chaotic.

Then, in a snap, things changed.

The already raucous area was thrown into turmoil as the explosion went off.

It was less of an explosion and more of a concussive wave that blasted everyone and everything outwards from its center at super-sonic speed. As with all explosions, the sight of pedestrians crashing through display windows and slamming into plastic barriers came first. Their movement almost seemed slowed and in those few precious seconds, the explosion seemed silent.

Then the sound came.

It wasn't an echoing boom as one might expect. No, this sound was a vicious, ear-splitting crack. It was a sound loud enough to rival the take-off of a Boeing 7-47. It sliced through the air and through the very being of every person that heard it.

In the moments before the incident, the air had been charged with what felt to most like static electricity, like just before a lightning strike. It was that feeling that makes your hair stand on end. It was the feeling of raw power. That feeling was what caused the eyes of many in the crowd to glance up from their phones just in time to see that inexplicable wave of power. It was that feeling that caused them to stare, motionless at the only thing, the only person, left within the blast radius.

Alone in the epicenter of what most would assume had been a concussion mine, knelt Jack. The cowering boy lifted his head. Later, a witness would tell every person who would listen that they had seen the fiery pits of Hell in that boy's eyes.

Jack was shaking as he rose to his feet. He had just wanted a little space. Not _this._ He had wanted room to breathe, not shattered glass and broken bones.

He had only thought it for a second.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

"What did I do?" Jack whispered. The guilt flooded him, consumed him, choked him like an executioner with unyielding iron hands. his breath caught in his throat as silent tears slipped down his cheeks. 

Jack swept his glowing eyes over the carnage he had caused. A mother was holding a tiny child in her arms, begging for her son to wake up. Jack just prayed the little boy wasn't dead. The people of Times Square had started screaming but he hardly heard it now. His gaze fell on a young woman trapped beneath several hundreds of pounds of construction material.

She was coughing and sputtering, shaking and gasping as she stared wide-eyed at the steel rebar jutting out of her stomach. The gray steel was painted a glossy red, like her lipstick which Jack quickly realized wasn't lipstick at all. The awful red-ness dribbled from her mouth as she tried to call for help but no one could hear her. She had been impaled on some scaffolding in front of a store. Jack had done that. He had impaled her.

He had to make it right.

Jack rushed over to the dangerous jumble of collapsed materials. Grasping the edge of a steel plank at the bottom of the pile, he carelessly tossed it- and everything on top of it- aside. The fallen scaffolding should have been impossible to lift but it didn't feel very heavy to Jack as he pushed it away with hardly a thought.

Bile crept up Jack's throat as he watched the young woman's white shirt turn red. It was just a small circle at first but it grew like a parasite and took away the innocent whiteness and replaced it with all that dooming red. The red kept on spreading and when there was no white left to take the blood spilled onto the pavement, pooling around the woman.

Jack wrapped his arms around the woman's torso, cradling her as gently as he could. There was a gruesome sucking noise as Jack lifted the woman up and the twisting rebar was pulled from her flesh. She let out a wet gagging sound as Jack laid her on the ground, her eyes unfocused. She looked like a broken doll, too damaged to even scream.

More blood bubbled from the mangled hole in the woman's stomach; like a morbid fountain, the gushing didn't seem like it would ever end. There was _so much blood_.

How was there so much blood?

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, earnestly and desperately trying to reassure her, "I'm so sorry!"

The woman hacked up more red as a response.

"It was an accident! I can fix you!" Jack promised.

He placed a hand over the woman's mutilated flesh and focused. The hole stitched its self together and the blood stopped flowing. Gasping, the woman bolted upright and stared at him with wild, panicked eyes.

"It's okay! I fixed you!" Jack said, nodding. The woman didn't speak as her gaze drifted down to Jack's hands. Alarm filled her features and she scrambled away from the boy, her eyes were focused and Jack's gaze followed her own.

His hands were red and glossy. The woman's blood coated his arms to his elbows, it soaked through his shirt and stained his skin. It was thick and the crimson liquid warmed his hands as it dripped off his fingers in fat, shiny, gobs.

"I fixed you."

But that didn't make the blood go away.

" _It was warm and wet and I liked it..."_

Jack remembered the sound of his father's voice as he had giggled while admitting to having murdered Maggie, Jack's best friend.

" _I liked it..."_

The voice echoed in his head.

His father had been right, Jack _was_ just like him.

What would Maggie think of him now? Would she ever forgive him?

"JACK!" Castiel's voice called from the crowd.

Jack didn't even look up. He couldn't.

Jack just closed his eyes and flew away.

*******

A crash rang out through the bunker. It came from the library, loud and sudden. I snapped my gaze to Isaac who just shrugged.

"Not it," He said. I rolled my eyes.

"You're already dead. The white-girl-in-a-horror-movie responsibility falls to you," I argued.

"You can't use my current state of un-alive-ness as an excuse for everything!" My brother huffed.

"I can and I will."

Then the screaming started.

It wasn't screaming in the typical sense; no, this was something else. It was pained and it was broken. It sounded not like an exclamation of fright but more like a lament for something lost. It was the sort of scream that builds like a weight in your chest, made of everything you've locked inside, and then it spills over and makes your whole body shake with the effort of getting that horrible weight out. It was the terrible cry of somebody mourning.

The scream came again.

I knew that voice, though I had never heard it so wrought with grief.

_Jack._

As soon as the thought came, I was running. I sprinted through the hallways and into the war room, dashing up the stone steps and passing under the archway, I stumbled to a stop in the library.

The place looked like a war zone. Books had been tossed to the ground and papers were scattered everywhere around the room. A table had been flipped, a lamp lay shattered on the ground and several chairs had been jettisoned in every direction surrounding what could only be described as a crash site.

The dark wooden flooring at the center of the library was now the home of two crimson handprints. Two long streaks of the same substance coated the floor, trailing away from the initial handprints and rounding behind a bookshelf's corner. There were flecks, small pools, and a few more handprints decorating the polished wood. One taste of the air told me that the blood staining the floor was human. Thankfully, the blood didn't smell sweet enough to be Jack's but that didn't stop the pang of hunger that washed over me, briefly turning my vision red.

"Marty?"

Isaac was at my side, looking at me worriedly. His posture was tense, ready to react, ready to fight me if I lost control. My eyes were locked on the puddles of blood and, just like in my dream, I couldn't force myself to look away. The hunger twisted my stomach into knots and the pain egged me to simply let go. It would be so much easier to just give in. My feet moved of their own accord, shuffling silently, following the slick red trail. I couldn't see Jack, the screaming had stopped, but I knew he was here. I could hear him breathing from behind one of the low bookshelves.

I could hear the breathing. The breaths were ragged and uneven, they hitched and scratched. Frightened and panicked. I could hear a heartbeat. Thrumming like a quiet drum, beating quick and light. So fast. So scared. Helpless, like a rabbit right before it dies. They're always so scared.

It had been a long time since I'd fed. It had been days. I was good at ignoring it. I was good at saying no.

Why did I keep saying no? Why did I keep starving myself? What was the point again?

There was something important I knew I was forgetting, but I couldn't remember what that was. I felt myself trailing my fingers across the wood as I rounded the corner of the bookshelf the boy was hiding behind.

What was he hiding from? Was it me? It was probably me. I was _so_ hungry. The boy's blood smelled so sweet. It smelled like candy. The blood on the floor was nothing in comparison. I smiled slightly at the boy and took another step forward.

"Marty, don't."

Isaac's voice sounded muffled, faded, far away. I knelt down beside the boy, tucking a strand of hair from his face. His throat was exposed. The skin looked soft. One quick snack couldn't hurt, right?

"Hi there," I whispered. The boy didn't move. I grinned.

"Tina, no!"

A chair flew across the room and crashed into my chest. My head snapped up and I barred my fangs, hissing at Issac. He stared at me with a look of sheer disgust.

I stopped. And I blinked. And I realized what was going on.

I glanced at him and then back to Jack, back to my friend. Just a moment ago I had been ready to take a chunk out of him. I shot up from the floor and backed away.

"S-sorry. I'm so sorry," I gasped, though I wasn't quite sure who I was apologizing to.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then I took a deep breath trying to calm my raging, killer instincts. I forced myself to open my eyes, to look at the blood, to smell it, to take it in. I forced myself to look at Jack. I forced myself to kneel down next to him again and I cupped his face in my hands. I looked him in the eyes. His eyes looked empty and far away. Jack probably wasn't even aware of what was going on around him. I could have killed him and he may not have even noticed.

' _He's alive._ ' I reminded myself. ' _He's alive and he is going to stay that way. His heart is beating and I am not going to take that away. Jack's life is his, Marty. It's not yours to take._ '

I remembered the promise I had made to myself only a few days ago. I had promised myself I wouldn't hurt him, but I had come way too close. How had I allowed myself to think like that? How had let myself come that close to hurting him?

Jack wouldn't have been able to fight back, not in his current state. He had curled his body into a ball, clutching his arms tight to his chest as if he was trying to hold himself together, and he sat wedged into the corner between a bookshelf and a cabinet. He rocked back and forth, quivering and staring at his hands which were drenched with blood. Quiet whimpers escaped his lips every now and again between desperate gasps for air. His eyes were ringed with red and silent tears slipped down his cheeks.

"Jack? You okay?" I asked gently.

He didn't react. He just kept on shaking and staring.

"Marty, I think you broke him," Isaac said, nudging Jack with his foot. Jack didn't even flinch. I glared at my brother for a moment before returning my attention to Jack.

"I didn't break him!" I defended, rolling my eyes as I grabbed Jack by his ankles and dragged him from his little hiding spot. The only reaction he had was shifting into the fetal position on the floor.

"Is he dying?" Isaac asked. "If he dies, I'll say hi to him for you."

"He's fine!" I insisted. Jack blinked and I gestured to him, "See? He blinked!"

"Why do you keep hurting people?" Jack mumbled. Both of our heads whipped around to stare at him, but Jack didn't speak again.

"You might wanna call the flannel freaks..." Isaac said, his voice trailing off as he eyed Jack with concern.

"Yeah..." I nodded absently and dialed the number, keeping my eyes on Jack all the while.

*******

"JACK!" Cas called out as he finally managed to shove his way to the center of the commotion.

The Nephilim knelt on the pavement, staring at blood-covered arms. Then, in a blink, he was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Sam asked, out of breath and emerging from behind Cas. The angel shook his head, worry filling his expression.

"I don't know."

"This is bad. This is really bad," Dean sighed, tugging at his hair and spinning in a circle. There were too many cameras and too many phones, there was no way somebody hadn't caught what had happened on video. Jack's face would be all over the news and the most-wanted lists in less than an hour.

"I'm gonna call him," Sam said, whipping out his phone. Cas shook his head, putting a hand on Sam's arm to stop him.

"It's no use, Sam, I saw him. Jack is in pain. He's not going to answer in his current state."

Cas flicked his eyes over the hoards of people. This was his fault; he should have known Jack wasn't ready for something like this, he should have made Jack stay in the Impala, he should have kept a closer eye on him, he should have-

"Well, then what now?" Sam huffed, interrupting Cas's thoughts.

"We start looking," Dean said, taking control of the situation; taking the lead, as always, "Cas, you call Rowena and tell her there's been a change of plan. Ask for directions to her apartment or whatever and ask to meet her there. Sammy and I are gonna go lookin' for Jack. Got it?"

Cas nodded firmly and turned to go but he hesitated before facing Dean again.

"Dean, if-- _when_ you find Jack, just tell him-- tell him I-" Cas sighed and shook his head in shame before glancing back to Dean with pleading eyes. "Tell him I'm sorry."

Dean patted his best friend on the shoulder.

"Tell him yourself."

Cas nodded before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Dean watched him go with a sorrowful frown tugging at his lips. He knew Cas would blame himself for losing the kid.

"So where do we start? This city is huge, Jack could be anywhere," The younger Winchester pointed out.

"Yeah, he _could_ be anywhere but Jack wouldn't _go_ just anywhere. I say we start at the car and if he's not there then you can grab your laptop and track the kid's phone," Dean said.

"Okay, let's just hope Jack remembered to charge it," Sam agreed, worrying.

"Sammy, Jack discovered angry birds last week, of course, he remembered to charge his phone!" Dean chuckled.

He turned away from his brother and started shouldering his way through the masses of pedestrians clogging the streets. Typically, Dean would be angry about Jack losing it in the middle of New-York-City in broad daylight, but not this time. Dean was an intimidating figure and he knew it; people usually steered clear of him, they gave him his space. But now, pushing and shoving his way through all these bodies, Dean could understand how Jack had lost it. The people pressed in on him and Dean had to plant his feet just to maintain his ground as they tried to get closer to the commotion, their morbid curiosity encouraged them to stare at those injured by Jack's lapse in control. A mob like this would make any person, who wasn't hardened to their core, lash out in panic. It wasn't Jack's fault that a single thought from him could send people flying.

"Uh... Dean?!" Sam called out. Dean cast a glance over his shoulder to look at his younger brother. Sam was standing on his toes and peering over the heads of the crowd.

"Yeah?" Dean shouted back.

"I think we got a problem!"

Dean opened his mouth to ask what Sam was referring to but he never got the chance.

"EVERYBODY GET ON YOUR KNEES!!!" A commanding voice blared through the speakers all over Times Square. "THIS IS NYPD! THERE'S BEEN A BOMBING! NOBODY LEAVES TILL WE FIND THE CULPRIT!"

Sam sent his brother a panicked look and Dean cursed under his breath.

"EVERYBODY GET ON YOUR KNEES! THIS IS NYPD!" The voice repeated.

"Dean, we don't have time for this! We have to find Jack _now_!" Sam stressed.

Squad cars, SWAT trucks, bomb techs, and ambulances started pulling in, blocking off the roads and exits. Sirens wailed as emergency personnel flooded the square, weapons brandished they were shouting for people to kneel and keep their hands above their heads.

"I know!" Dean growled. Reaching back, he tugged the 9mm Browning from his waistband and flicked the safety off. Sam glanced at the gun and back to his brother, his eyes wide.

"Woah, woah! Dean, what are you doing?"

"Listen to me, Sam. I'm gonna get their attention and lead 'em' away. You need to get back to Baby. Now go!" Dean was about to take off but Sam grabbed his shoulder.

"Wait! What about you?!"

"I'll be right behind you! Just get back to the car and if Jack's not there then track his phone and wait for me till I meet you there!" Dean shouted over the crowd, checking his ammo.

"What if you don't come back!?" Sam cried. Dean flashed his brother a cocky grin.

"C'mon, Sammy! I always come back!"

Sam nodded.

"Good luck!"

Dean sent him a mocking salute before turning and raising the pistol over his head.

"Yippiekyay mother--"

The rest of what he was going to say was cut off by the cracking of the three shots he fired into the air.

More screaming erupted from around Dean, and Sam paused for a moment before whirling around and making a breakthrough the crowd. A cop car blocked his way but he leaped into the air and slid over the hood. A police officer shouted after him before firing off a round. Sam gasped as the bullet tore through the material of his jacket but he hardly stumbled as he kept running down the packed city street. The shot may have missed him, but it buried itself in the back of a man passing on his right. The guy cried out before dropping to the ground.

"Civilians! Hold your fire!" A different officer shouted.

"Sorry!" Sam ground out, he didn't stop to help the man as he would have years ago. He had been a different person back then. Now, Sam knew he couldn't protect everyone, this guy was just collateral damage. At least, that's what Sam told himself.

Just before he turned a corner, Sam heard more gunshots. This time they were accompanied by his brother's voice.

"Yeah, that's right! Dean Winchester! Number 4 on America's most wanted! Turns out, I'm not dead! Come and get me!"

Sam shook his head as he rounded the corner and took off down an alleyway. He kept at a sprint, winding through obscure streets, headed in the direction of the Impala. When he got to the parking garage he pulled open the car's door and found it empty. Sliding into the front seat, he locked himself inside and lifted his laptop out from under the seat. Then he got to work.

Meanwhile, Dean was wishing he had Sam's giant legs. His own were pumping as fast as he could make them but it didn't seem to be fast enough.

See, there had been a lot of police officers. Dean had known that firing three rounds in the middle of Times Square would draw attention. He just hadn't been counting on how _much_ attention. When he'd seen Sam take off, Dean had bolted in the opposite direction and the officers had been quick to pursue him, assuming that the guy with the gun had been the guy with the "bomb".

Now, of course, Dean was a hunter. And that meant that he knew how to run. Out of the hunter's happy little family, Dean was the fastest with Jack coming in a close second. (It was truly surprising just how fast that kid could move when milky-way ice cream was being offered.) Sam may have had the longest legs but he couldn't move them with anything close to Dean's swiftness. There had been hunts where Dean had run down vampires. In other words, Dean Winchester was one fast dude.

Most of the cops simply hadn't been able to keep up with him. The rest had tired out. All except one.

The dark-skinned woman barreling after him was as fast as he was. Dean's feet pounded against the concrete and he turned down as many alleyways as he could find but he couldn't seem to shake her off his tail. She was out for blood.

Dean rushed down another tight alley, running straight into a chain-link fence. Finally, this was his chance. He flipped over the fence with the grace of a cheerleader and landed lightly on his feet. Turning around, Dean smirked at the officer on the other side of the fence. She was about as tall as Jack and she wouldn't have been able to reach the top of the fence.

"Sorry, sweetheart!" He called. The woman whipped out her pistol and fired but Dean was quick to dodge. He sent her a wave over his shoulder and took off down the alley. He needed to find his way back to Sam. Silently thanking whoever came up with the idea for Google maps, Dean twisted through downtown Manhattan back towards the Impala. He emerged onto an unfamiliar street and was turning the corner when a sharp pain exploded on the side of his head.

The world swayed and Dean fell to his knees, looking up at his attacker. It was the policewoman and she had hit him with her nightstick. She picked his gun up off the ground where he'd dropped it and stuck the pistol in her waistband.

"Ya gotta be kiddin' me," He groaned, rolling his eyes as she pressed her gun to his head.

"By all rights, you should be unconscious," She said, sounding a little confused.

"Not my first concussion, won't be my last," Dean huffed.

"Thick skull then?" She asked.

"Something like that."

"Makes sense. I'm assuming you've heard the Meranda Rights before?" She said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

"Yup."

"Good. You know the drill; hands up."

Dean sighed but did as he was told. The officer snapped the cuffs onto his wrists and pulled him to his feet.

"Get moving," She demanded, pressing her gun into his back. Dean shrugged and started walking at a comfortable pace.

"So, what's your name?" He asked casually.

"It's Captain," The woman growled.

"Nice name, I'd love to hear the rest of it," He said, glancing over his shoulder.

"It's Bradley. Captain Bradley. And you still have the right to remain silent so I suggest you use it." She jabbed him with her gun to emphasize her point, but Dean wasn't intimidated.

"Well, it's not like I'll be stickin' around here sooo..." He trailed off, sending Captain Bradley a wink. She scowled at him.

"I intend to make sure you stick around for a little while, at least until you're tried for your crimes; hopefully in Texas!" Bradley spat. Dean chuckled.

"Why Texas?" He asked.

"Because the death penalty is valid in Texas," She sneered. Dean's brows shot up and he frowned.

"You got a grudge against me or somethin'?" Dean asked in a challenging tone. His words were met with the barrel of Bradley's pistol jabbing into his back.

"In 2012 you and your brother shot up a diner full of civilians. My momma went in there for some pancakes." Bradley paused, taking a deep breath. "She came out with a chest full of lead."

Dean's heart sank in his chest.

"I-I'm... sorry," He said, regretfully. Captain Bradley chuckled but there was no humor in it.

"Like Hell you are. You're a psychopath, Dean Winchester." She growled. "You're not human. You're not sorry. You don't feel remorse."

Dean stopped walking and turned around. Captain Bradley aimed her gun at his face and he looked straight down the barrel without so much as a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

"You're wrong about me," He said quietly, "I'm sorry for more than you will _ever_ know."

Bradley readjusted her grip on the gun, glaring at Dean with a fire in her soul.

"Even if I believed you, and I don't, sorry doesn't bring my mom back, _bastard._ "

"You're right; it doesn't." Dean nodded. "But it does give me enough time to pick a lock."

Captain Bradley blinked before she realized what Dean meant. Dean held up both his freshly released hands and smirked before throwing a kick at Bradley's side.

She was quick to react and dove to her left, dodging his foot. Dean saw this coming and used her off-set center of gravity to grab her arm. Twisting it behind her back, he latched one end of the handcuffs onto her wrist. Then he swung her around and clasped the other end of the cuffs to a nearby lamp post. She looked from him to her restraints and back again and glared, grinding her teeth together.

"I'm sorry about that too," Dean said as he took his gun back from her and tucked it into his coat pocket. He swiped her pistol from its holster and inspected it briefly before removing all the bullets and tossing it a few feet away.

"You're gonna get what's coming to you, Winchester! One of these days it's all gonna come crashing down!" Bradley shouted, straining at the cuffs. Dean sighed.

"If you only knew."

"Go rot in Hell! You and your brother!"

Dean sighed and glanced back over his shoulder.

"I hope you have a nice life, Captain Bradley," He said softly. Then he turned and started his back to his brother.

~ _This is gonna break your heart_

_I'm so sorry, yeah I know_

_This is gonna break your heart_

_Is this all that life's about?_

_Tryna love how you turn out_

_I don't love it much at all_

_I don't think I love it much at all~_

_Lyrics from: Turning Out Part Two by AJR_


End file.
